


Dead Like You

by strangeallure



Category: CW Network RPF, Dead Like Me, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Grim Reapers, M/M, Romantic Comedy, TV-show!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared sort of figured that death would mean a change in location. He just didn't think he'd have to move to Los Angeles and start working as a grim reaper. Every day, he and his colleagues (Jensen, Misha and Genevieve) meet up at the Bavarian Waffle House to get their assignments from their boss, Loretta. After a rough start, Jared and Jensen just click - and decide that there's really no reason for dead guys to play by the rules. They have questions, and a road trip to Texas might help them get some answers.<br/>While this fic is based on the premise of "Dead Like Me", it's not a retelling. This universe has its own rules and its own story, sprinkled with occasional references to the source.</p><p><b>Warnings</b>: Things that come with the territory: mentions of pain and illness, a few gory details, character death. Neither of the Js is any deader in the end than he was in the beginning, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First published on LJ in August 2010.

The takeaway from Jared's death is pretty simple: miniature golf can help save lives.

There are sphinxes, wishing-wells and windmills on the course, and, more importantly, no fancy-pants golf carts. It's also a lot more fun.

Needless to say, when Jared tries to branch out after fifteen years of mini-putt, it's not going so well.

An hour into his first real golf lesson, he's already bored out of his mind. Enough so that he starts screwing around with the golf cart and ends up careening downhill at full speed. And yeah, sure, that’s kind of fun – until he manages to drive straight into an artificial lake. He tries to jump off the damn cart, but gets his shorts stuck and twisted on a lever. Suddenly, he's trapped. And drowning. In a body of water he could comfortably stand in if only he were upright.

That would never have happened on a miniature golf course. Maybe.

If Jared were given a do-over, he'd definitely choose Rockhopper's Family Fun Park over the local country club the second time around.

He doesn't get a do-over, though. On the upside, he finally gets to see Los Angeles.

It's like this: One minute, he's struggling under water, trying to get out of his shorts, or rip them free, or just tear out the whole damn lever. He's thrashing and splashing and struggling not to breathe in the water that's weighing him down, that gets inside his nose and mouth, making his head burn, threatening to flood his lungs. He's fighting for his life, trying to hold on, even as his strength and senses are fading, his body getting heavy and his mind getting light.

The next minute, there are birds singing and Jared's sitting on a park bench.

He falls forward, hands on his knees, mouth open as far as it will go, vigorously pulling air into his lungs, gulping it down. He's panting and wheezing, and it takes him a moment to realize that the effort’s completely unnecessary because there _is_ no water surrounding him anymore. It takes him another moment to notice the light, soothing touch at the small of his back. His back, which feels completely dry, just like the rest of him.

"You calm down now, boy," a female voice says in a familiar drawl. "People are starting to think you're having a panic attack."

The voice is nice and gentle. Jared takes deep breaths – one, two, three – trying to get himself back under control.

Once he feels a little calmer, less panicky and frantic, he looks over to find out who the voice – and, presumably, the hand, – belongs to. Next to him sits a middle-aged woman in casual clothes, her afro held back from her face by a red headband, her mouth painted in the same bold color.

She gives him a wide smile and a last soothing stroke down his back before pulling her hand away. "That’s better, Jared." She nods encouragingly. "Much better."

Huh, so she knows his name. That's weird. It doesn't feel weird, though. It feels … inevitable, like she ought to know. For a while, they just sit there, not talking, not touching, not making eye contact. She's giving him time to relax, to adjust a little, Jared guesses. He's just not sure what he's supposed to be adjusting to.

He has no idea where they are or why they are here. He doesn't know who she is or why he's not soaking wet, not even a little damp, or covered in duckweed. He doesn't care as much as he should.

"So you probably figured out that you're dead by now," she says after a few more minutes.

Jared's head snaps up at that, and his eyes go wide as he looks at her.

She chuckles. "Or maybe not." Her palm pats his thigh, and he feels himself calm down instantly. "Either way, that's what you are now, Jared: dead."

He just nods dumbly. Extending her hand, she gives him another brilliant smile. "I'm Loretta, by the way. I'm your new boss."

\--

A few minutes later, Jared and Loretta enter a restaurant called the Bavarian Waffle House. There's faint accordion music coming from the speakers, and Jared stops and takes in the wall decorations. There are several cuckoo clocks, vintage-looking cowbells and an array of gray and green felt hats on hooks all around the large room. In between, the walls are littered with wooden picture frames, photos and paintings of tranquil pastures with kettle and chalets and wholesome women in dirndls, all with the picturesque backdrop of what Jared assumes are the Alps.

He realizes that he's been staring with his mouth open, unable to tear his eyes away from the décor. He pulls himself together. As long as they have food, he decides, everything's going to work out.

Loretta stirs him to a booth in the back where a bunch of people seem to be waiting for them.

There's a bored-looking guy with a leather wristband and a gray, washed-out David Bowie t-shirt in the one corner. In the opposite corner, another guy with seriously mussed hair and a brown corduroy jacket looks like he passed out a while ago. At least the dark-haired girl next to him gives Jared a welcoming smile as she adjusts the strap of her olive-colored tank top and discreetly elbows passed-out guy, trying to wake him up.

"Good morning, everyone," says Loretta and slides into the booth, gesturing for Jared to take the chair on the front end of the table. "Y'all sure look excited today." Her pointed look travels from formerly passed-out guy, who's now yawning violently, to bored-looking guy, who seems to take it as a cue to throw up his hands in mock enthusiasm and exclaim, "Oh hey, look: It's Loretta Lawless and the new Captain Generico! How exciting!"

The look on Loretta's face goes from pointed to piercing. "Don’t call him that, Jensen."

"What?" The guy, Jensen, manages to combine innocently mystified and completely blasé into one expression. "When I called the last one John Doe, you didn't like it. Thought I'd try something new."

"How about you just stick with Chad this time." It's not a question.

Jared's about to correct her – why would she call him Chad all of a sudden? – but before he can, Jensen's talking again.

"Yeah, sorry, I forgot." He raises his eyebrows meaningfully at Jared. "Because we have _code names_ here. Because this is a _covert operation_." He puts a large piece of waffle into his mouth and mumbles around it, "Fuck this shit."

Loretta slaps his arm. "Language, Jensen."

The contrition on his face seems almost real. "Sorry, Loretta."

"So anyway." Loretta's eyes quickly travel around the table. "This is Jared, our new colleague. Say hello."

The girl gives him another smile and a small wave. "Hey, I'm Genevieve. Good to meet you, Jared."

"Hey Jared, what's up?" No-longer-passed-out guy says and yawns. "I'm Misha."

Jensen just gives him a curt nod. "Hey."

"Jensen, can't you at least make the effort?" Loretta's voice sounds more resigned than angry this time.

"What?" Jensen asks irritably. "You already called me by my name. I didn't think he was _slow_ , you know." What a dick.

Just as Jared shoots him an annoyed look, a waiter comes to stand at their table and hands Loretta and Jared a menu each.

The man is around forty, maybe, tall and broad-shouldered with dark skin and a shaved head. He looks like he should be wearing a suit, something formal, but instead, he's decked in an embroidered white linen shirt with lederhosen and leather suspenders. Seems like they really take this authenticity thing seriously here at the Bavarian Waffle House.

"Good morning, Loretta," the waiter says in a deep voice, sadly without a fake German accent. He’s smiling in a way that transforms his face, making him look friendly and open. "I see your godson's back in town." He throws a quick smile at Jared. "Chad, is it?"

 _Chad_ , again? Before Jared can set the guy straight, Loretta cuts in, "That's right, Robert. Chad's here for a week or so. I didn't think you'd remember him."

"I'm good with names," Robert says and shrugs. "I'll get you two some coffee, give you a moment to decide."

When he's out of earshot, Jared asks, "What is it with this Chad thing? You don't really use code names, do you?" Unlike Robert, Jared's not really good with remembering names. And if it turns out that he really has to use an alias, he'd at least want something cool. Not Chad. Definitely not Chad.

Jensen snorts, but Misha is nice enough to answer, "No we don't. The double name thing is only for you, and it's only temporary anyway – until Loretta fleshes you."

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Yeah, Misha. That's real helpful for the newbie. Look at his face – I don't think he has a clue what you're talking about." And wow, that guy really has a talent for being a complete ass.

"You both shut it," Loretta says, her expression stern.

Once they've gotten coffee and ordered their food – the 'usual' for Loretta and the extra-large Bavarian Forest Breakfast Platter for Jared – Loretta gives him another of those wide smiles.

"So, Jared," she says. "I bet you're wondering what you're doing here." To be honest, Jared has been trying _not_ to think about what he's doing here, but he figures he is going to find out anyway, so he nods.

"You're officially a grim reaper in training now."

"Actually," Misha pipes up, "I prefer reaper. Grim reaper sounds so depressing, like dark, scary forests and fairytales. The original, frightening ones by the brothers Grimm – _Grimm_ , see? – not the Disney version."

"I loved _Beauty and the Beast_ ," Genevieve says, grinning. "That singing candleholder was hilarious."

Jensen just rolls his eyes in Misha's direction and mutters, "The fairytale dudes are spelled with two M's, you moron."

Loretta continues like she didn't even hear them. "And you're lucky enough to learn the craft from these highly-skilled professionals." Jared thinks he hears a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but he can't be sure.

"Craft?" Jensen asks slowly with his one eyebrow raised higher than should be humanly possible.

Jared can neither appreciate Loretta's sarcasm nor Jensen's snark. He's confused, a little shaken even. "But," he stutters, feeling helpless and out of his depth, "this can't be. I mean, I'm not … whatever religion it is that believes in people becoming grim reapers after their deaths."

"Tough luck," Jensen says, shrugging. "I used to be an atheist. Guess how much this thing messed up my belief system."

Loretta shoots Jensen another glare and puts her hand over Jared's. He relaxes a little, enough to hear what Misha's saying next, a wistful voice and faraway expression on his face. "I always thought that after I'd die, I'd be reborn as a wild Mustang on a wide and grassy plain."

Next to him, Genevieve's eyes grow wide. "Seriously, Misha? A Mustang?" She cocks her head like she's contemplating something. "I always pictured you more as a donkey, maybe a circus pony." Her grin is so innocently sweet that it takes Jared a moment to realize she's joking.

Misha doesn't seem to mind; he just sighs thoughtfully. "A pony? That could work, too."

"I vote for mule," Jensen says. He dips a strip of bacon into his egg yolk and then adds, "From what I know, they're all sterile."

Jared involuntarily snorts a laugh. When his breakfast arrives right that moment, he's grateful; he doesn't want to worry if him laughing upset Misha or not. Though, admittedly, the guy seems a little too spaced-out to care.

\--

Three waffles, four pancakes, a large helping of scrambled eggs and some bacon later, Jared's learned a lot of stuff about his current situation, but he's still trying to wrap his head around everything.

So he gets that he's a reaper (in training) now, okay, but there's a lot more strange things to deal with, especially the whole fleshing/body issue. He doesn't even try starting with that, but decides to go through this step by step.

"So let me recap this. Before I can reap on my own, I'll have to 'shadow' every one of you for a couple of days?" It feels so weird to say things like this out loud, but Jared powers through. "How's that going to work exactly?"

"It's like training-on-the-job, basically." Genevieve smiles. "You come along for our appointments, get to see the techniques and different styles we use to get the job done. Then you can decide what might work for you."

"Work for me when I do _what_?" Because Jared honestly has no clue. Will he have to wear a black gown with a hood and carry a scythe with him when he's working? Will he have to wear a mask like the one in _Scream_ or paint his face white? His new colleagues don't seem like they do, but maybe they all have company cars (hearses?) with their stuff in the parking lot – or spin into work gear in a telephone booth before their next job, like Superman. Only not from Krypton. And dead.

"I'll give you a name, an address and an ETD – estimated time of death – for your client of the day," Loretta says, surprisingly matter-of-fact. "You go to the address, find the person and touch her. This will sever the connection between her soul and her body, so when the accident happens, her soul won't be tied to the body's pain and will be able to leave it."

Okay, that makes sense – kind of, unless … "And what if it's not an accident?"

Jensen gives him this 'why are you even here' look. "We're the Accidental Deaths Division, so guess what? It's always an accident."

Loretta, yet again, frowns at Jensen before she turns to Jared. "Yeah, I forgot to tell you about that. We're accidents-only."

"Believe it or not – you're lucky," Genevieve says. "I think suicides, homicides or dying by illness are much worse. For our clients, it's mostly quick."

"Yeah," Misha agrees, "when it comes to reaping, this is probably the sweetest gig you can get, apart from natural causes."

Jared finds himself nodding. He can't believe the things he's been agreeing to today, the things he's been agreeing to since he _died_. The fact that he died today isn’t something he wants to think about now, so Jared's glad when his mind comes up with another question. "But if we always touch them right before they die, doesn't that make us, you know, suspicious? Like, won't the police try and question us or something?"

The expression on Jensen's face changes a little at that, and Jared almost wants to believe that he thinks it's a good question.

"Good thinking, Jared." Loretta sure seems pleased. "But that won't be a problem. We don't make an impression on the living like other people do. They acknowledge us when we speak to them or do something out-of-the-ordinary, but they don't really see us, not like regular people. It takes a lot of exposure before they'll even really remember your face."

"Good in terms of stealth, but makes it harder to get laid." Misha sighs.

Genevieve cuts him a quick look and then pretends like he didn't say anything. "And once you unlock a body, you become unnoticeable. It's like … people won't walk into you, but they won't really sense your presence either."

"That's true," Misha confirms, "you can untie their shoelaces or steal the ties off their necks, and they won't even notice."

"Which you absolutely shouldn't do," Loretta says sternly. "This is not something to be fooled around with or a new way to prank people. It's to protect you, to enable you to do your job."

"Plus, you won't look like a crazy person when you're talking to the souls outside of their bodies. So that's good," Jensen adds.

"But what about me? I mean, if I'm doing this training thing, won't it be strange if I ask you a question and people don't notice you, only me?" It still feels bizarre to be talking like this, to be taking this whole situation seriously, to ask questions about specifics and details. It still feels unreal to think that he is dead. Dead. For good – and about to reap people who are alive right now, but who won't be after he touches them. He tries to push the thought aside, to concentrate on Loretta's answer instead.

"No, darling. No one will care. Your state will be tied to that of the reaper you're shadowing," she explains. "So if he or she is unnoticeable, you will be, too. You don't have to worry about that at all." She gives him a smile and a reassuring pat to his hand.

Jared eats another strip of bacon and gulps down some of his lukewarm coffee. "Okay, good." He swallows. "And after the training is done, you'll give me sort of a pass or fail. And if I pass, I'll get my own body back, right?"

The way Jensen looks at him, kind of annoyed and exasperated at the same time, makes Jared itchy, irritable. A feeling that transforms into a low-boiling anger when Jensen basically sneers at him, "No, you won't. Your body's dead, remember? You'll be rotting in the ground real soon – or maybe sit in an urn on your mother's fireplace mantle, depending on your family's preferences."

The look in Loretta's eyes makes Jared understand what the phrase 'staring daggers at someone' means, but her voice is level when she says, "Stop being helpful, Jensen. Really. It doesn't suit you." For the first time, Jared is absolutely sure that she's not at least a little amused by Jensen's snark.

She turns back to Jared, the familiar warmth of her palm on his wrist again. "Honey, you're not far off. As soon as we're sure you'll stay here with us, I'll give you back your body." She raises an eyebrow in Jensen's direction. "Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. It'll look and feel just like you're used to."

"And why do I have to look like this until then?" he asks, catching a glimpse of the unfamiliar face in the mirror above the booth. He can't believe that he didn't notice when he first came to on that park bench, but he's stuck in the body of another guy. At least it's not a bad-looking guy. His hair’s lighter and shorter than Jared's, eyes a little more squinty, nose a little broader and mouth a little less wide.

Maybe Jared didn't realize it right away because their build is similar, except that this body must be a couple of inches shorter than Jared's used to. Of course, the not-noticing part could also have had something to do with Jared being too busy with other things, like readjusting his notions about fucking life after death.

When Loretta doesn't answer right away, Genevieve explains it for him. "It's an energy thing. It's draining for Loretta to make you your new body." She glances around the table. "Remember the last time? Sophia? You ordered seconds of everything for a week after you had fleshed her, right?" Her eyes move to Loretta for confirmation.

"God, yes, don't remind me. I was hungry _all the time_. I even had to take a boxed lunch with me while I was reaping."

"Too bad Sophia got a transfer. I kind of liked her." Misha looks sad. "So much better than Travis."

"Don't even get me started on that guy. What a complete loser. Tried to jump into other people's white lights." Jensen raises a meaningful eyebrow at Jared like that statement is supposed to make sense to him. "All the time." Jared looks away.

"Didn't he almost make it once?" Misha asks.

"Yeah, on my watch, too. That really wasn’t fun at all," Genevieve says. "He almost managed to snap the connect. It felt like my spine was being pulled out through my stomach, like in that chestburster scene in _Alien_. I wanted to throw up my guts for an hour after." Jared's not sure he's following.

"He got a transfer, though." Misha's face turns thoughtful, and he continues like he's talking to himself, "I wonder where he is right now."

"Taking the souls of kittens, maybe? Or making clouds, painting the sky, shooting Cupid's arrow at people? Whatever other shit jobs are out there for us," Jensen’s still looking at Jared from the corner of his eye.

Misha stabs his finger in Jensen's direction, somewhat unexpectedly. "Or maybe they did give him his own white lights. Maybe, we're still here because we're the only ones dumb and complacent enough to actually do what we're told. Maybe we should stage a mutiny."

"Ignore him." Jensen catches Jared’s gaze. "He gets like that sometimes. It's the drugs." Jared suppresses a smile at the offhand way Jensen says it, but doesn't look away this time. He still has to work with the guy, so he probably shouldn't be ignoring him completely.

"He also likes the word 'mutiny' a lot," Genevieve says and Misha nods his head in confirmation.

"I really do."

Jensen raises his coffee cup. "I'll drink to that."

"Now if we're done with Misha's little speech of the day," Loretta cuts in, "and to completely answer your question, Jared." She gestures towards him. "This body is like a stand-by, a generic body I use for male, white souls."

It's so strange that this is actually making sense to him, but it is.

There's only one more question left, one thing he hasn't yet dared to say, but which he has to ask. He just has to. Even though he already knows the answer. He knows it not just from the situation, but knows it in his gut. And isn't that the kicker: right this moment, he doesn't even _have_ a gut of his own, right this moment, his intuition resides in a 'stand-by' called Chad. Jared doesn't want to live – to _exist_ this way. He steels himself and swallows.

"Is there a way? Any other way that I could get back home? I mean, maybe I'm just in a coma or something. Maybe I could still wake up."

Loretta shakes her head slowly, lightly. "I'm sorry, Jared." She strokes his arm. "But you're dead. That's non-negotiable. There's nothing you can do. You'll just have to accept it."

Everyone gives him a small smile, even Jensen. Their looks are clearly trying for reassuring and friendly, like they're saying 'we know how you feel', like they're saying 'we know you'll get over it', and it hits Jared: they went through this themselves, all of them. They do know how he feels because, at some point, they felt the same way.

He can't stand it. He never liked pity, never liked those little participation trophies in elementary school that only served to remind you that you had lost.

There's pressure building behind his eyes – and hey, they're not even his eyes, they're Chad's eyes, Captain Generico's eyes. God, this is so fucked up.

The silence around the table stretches for too long, and he wonders why no one's saying anything. He half wishes he hadn't asked, had just kept his mouth shut. He wants to say something to make it better, lighten the mood, and finally settles on a grin and a taunting "So what? I'm dead – or undead – for good, and I don't even get to eat people's brains or have superpowers?"

Jared thinks Jensen wants to smile at the joke, but then seems to catch himself and makes his voice sound a little bored instead. "Yeah, well. I suppose you could eat people's brains if that's what you're into."

Genevieve grins. "And what do you mean no superpowers? You can unlock a person's soul from their body, and you become unnoticeable once you do – that's as good as invisible, if you ask me." She pops one of her cold waffle bits into her mouth. "Electra has less than that, and she's one kick-ass superhero."

"Yeah well," Jared says, "When I hear superpowers, I think of something cooler, like heat vision or super strength or, I don’t know, at least an indestructible shield or something."

Of course Jensen has a smart-ass remark for that. "Since when is a shield a superpower?"

"He probably just likes Captain America," Genevieve says. She might not be wrong.

"Must be it," Misha agrees. "And who says that the undead should even have superpowers?"

"Spawn does," Jared says defiantly. He's read a lot of comic books as a kid. Okay, and maybe he never stopped reading them either.

"Yeah, well, but _he_ made a pact with the devil." Jensen looks at him like he's imparting some great wisdom, and Jared's rarely been happier to out-geek someone.

"With one of the Lords of Hell, you mean?" he corrects Jensen with a smug look. If there's one thing Jared knows, it's his comic books.

Before Jensen can answer, Loretta raises her voice: "There are no pacts with anybody going on around here, kids. Is that understood?" Everyone mutters in agreement, and Jared feels like he's back in kindergarten. Apparently, Loretta's with Jared on this one because she grumbles, "It's like working with little children."

"So, Jared," she continues, "I'll be there to explain things to you later, but right now, we have to get the assignments out for today."

When she hands everyone a yellow Post-it note with the information about their job – or 'client', to use Loretta's word – for the day, Jared does a double take. "Post-its? Really?"

"What did you expect?" Jensen replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That we'll sync up our schedules on our BlackBerries? Or maybe get our assignments on rolls of parchment, written in blood?" Jared would never admit it out loud, but the second alternative, especially, would probably have surprised him less than the small yellow pieces of paper everyone's holding on to.

"Jensen, be nice," Loretta says. "As luck would have it, I won't be able to take you today, Jared, so you'll have to shadow Jensen."

Great, that's just great. Both Jared and Jensen groan at the news, and it's almost funny that it's in unison. If it wasn't about having to spend the day with that jerk.

"Give me your left hands. I'll make the connect," Loretta orders.

"The what?" Jared asks, both his hands staying in his lap. He's gone with a lot of wacky stuff today, but he at least wants to understand what's being done to him.

"I told you I had to tie your state to that of your mentor," Loretta replies. "That's the connect."

Genevieve jumps in to clarify again, "Yeah, it's like this connection between you and another reaper, and you'll be in whatever state the other one's in. You can't be far away from him or her, either. If you try, both of you will feel like throwing up."

"That sounds almost like a leash … with side effects," Jared says. It's the first time he sees Jensen smile, even though the guy tries to conceal it right away.

"It is," Jensen agrees.

"Or like an umbilical cord," Misha says in a thoughtful tone.

"Ew. You're disgusting." Jensen's lips curl and his nose scrunches up.

Jared feels exactly the same way, but tries to ignore Misha. "And I'm the dog?" he asks instead.

"You're the dog, dawg." Jensen smirks.

Jared just shakes his head, but gives Loretta his hand. She closes her eyes briefly, squeezes both their hands and then it's done, apparently. It's a very anticlimactic experience.

Jensen shrugs and gets up. "You'd better start calling me master, rookie."

Jared makes a face at him. "You better have treats for me, _master_ , or I'll bite your leg and pee in your shoes."

"Let's go, Fido."

So yeah, Jensen's a bit of an asshole, but at least he has a sense of humor. Jared can work with that.

\--

After a couple of hours spent with Jensen, Jared can't help thinking the guy is lucky he's already dead – because otherwise, Jared would be tempted to hit him over the head or shove him into oncoming traffic.

Jensen's client isn't due until late in the afternoon, so they pass the time roaming the city together. Jared tries to make conversation, to ask questions, to make some kind of connection – besides the damn connect, that is – but Jensen doesn't seem interested.

At one point, Jensen stops at a record store without telling Jared, so Jared continues walking down the road. On the next corner, he has to double over in pain, feeling nauseous and seasick, like he ate some really bad fish. Damn connect. Jensen doesn't even apologize, just calls Jared an idiot and tells him to fucking pay attention next time as if it were Jared's fault.

Earlier, at the Waffle House, Jared had thought that they were getting somewhere, that they had at least some common ground to help them get along. Jensen doesn't seem to agree. He doesn't even pretend to try and be less than hostile. Instead, he's snarky and monosyllabic and cold and mean.

Which is a shame because the guy seems to be into comic books and good music (judging from the record store's display), and Jared can appreciate snark, he can, as long as something nicer comes along with it, too, not just one derisive remark after another.

It also doesn't help that Jensen is good-looking. Really, really good-looking. Long and lithe and ridiculously pale in the hot L.A. sun with expressive eyes and good bone structure that makes Jared want to hold his head in his hands, trace Jensen's cheekbones with his thumbs. And then crush his skull into dust because he's such a jerk.

Still, they have to kill the time somehow, and since Jensen just seems to be walking around aimlessly, Jared swallows his pride and suggests that they could maybe go see the tar pits. He remembers them from this disaster movie with Tommy Lee Jones, and they seemed pretty cool.

Jensen just gives him another one of those pinched, douchey smiles. "Oh, _Volcano_?" he asks. "Only highbrow entertainment for you, I see." Giving Jared a condescending look, he adds, "Hate to disappoint you, buddy, but I ain't your guide around here. If you want to go sight-seeing, buy a tour ticket and leave me alone."

There's a white-hot surge of anger welling up in Jared, irritation that's been rising over the past hours finally boiling over. He's been tense ever since they left the Waffle House, trying not to let Jensen's attitude problem get to him, trying to stay calm and make nice, ignoring most of the guy's jabs and barbs. Now, all that tension seems to take over his body, making his muscles twitch and his jaw tick. He can't even remember the last time he was so pissed off. He feels his blood pump a little faster, his breathing coming a little shallower. He feels his hands clench into fists and barely manages to keep them hanging by his sides.

"You," he says, consciously keeping his voice down and letting the words come out slow, "are one major asshole."

Jensen just smirks lazily, like he can't even be bothered, like it's a compliment.

Jared takes a deep breath. "And I'm sure you're real proud of it, too. All anti-authority, anti-social, anti-everything – not conforming to the rules and shit."

Jensen's still standing there, saying nothing, and Jared edges closer, feels his muscles tense further and his shoulders curl forward.

"But tell you what – it's easy to be an asshole. It's easy to always be against everything, to only see the bad side and treat people like shit." Jared knows he's getting too worked up, is getting too close, but he doesn't care. He keeps closing in on Jensen.

"I'm sure you didn't choose this. I know you'd rather be somewhere else. Guess what? Me, too. I'd rather be back home in San Antonio with my family and my friends or even that boring guy, Tom, who tried to teach me how to play fucking golf when I died." He snorts a laugh. "Because that's what I did today. I got up early, took a shower, went to the golf course and then I fucking drowned. And maybe that’s no big deal to you, but it is to me." His voice is getting louder, stronger, and he's vaguely aware that it's different from what he's used to, that the sounds feel wrong in his skull.

"But you don't cut people any slack, do you? You just don't care. Because all you are is one giant prick." His chest is almost touching Jensen's, and he can feel the puffs of air from Jensen's nose on his face. Jensen's eyes are open wide, and it's like he's looking at Jared, really looking for the first time. The moment is surreal, over-charged, and somehow, Jared's body wants to move forward, move in ... and then he snaps out of it, takes a few steps back to give Jensen some space.

For a minute, Jared looks around on the ground, rolling his shoulders to get rid of the tension and trying to get his breathing back under control. Jensen only stands there, completely still, not moving a muscle.

After a while, Jensen's feet leave Jared's field of vision, and Jared doesn't know what to do, so he stays put. When he doesn't follow, Jensen turns and says over his shoulder, "You coming or what? If we want to see the tar pits before the job, we gotta get moving."

\--

"Okay," Jensen explains a few hours later, "it's ten minutes until the ETD, so it could be that she's not here yet, but we should definitely keep our eyes and ears open."

They're at a street corner right across the Farmers Market, waiting for Allison Esposito to bite the bullet. It's weird to know someone's going to die, but not know anything about that person. She could be a child or an old woman; she could be the lady going through the trash or the one getting out of a limo. Jared has no idea what to look out for, but Jensen seems calm, certain, like nothing could go wrong.

It's weird, but ever since Jared's blow-up, he's been a lot … nicer. And even after only knowing the guy for half a day, the word 'nice' seems completely out of place in describing Jensen. So okay, he's still snarky and sarcastic as all hell, but he mostly cuts out the downright insults in Jared's direction. The living, though, still seem fair game, and with the number of obvious health freaks and plastic surgery victims around, he's clearly been having a field day.

Right now, Jensen surprises Jared again by going into teacher mode. "You've got to listen when people talk to each other, and you've got to look for visual clues, too."

When Jared's face crumples up in a question, Jensen looks only mildly annoyed. "Like monograms on briefcases, name tags, custom license plates, people signing a check or a petition or something." Jensen points towards a stall a couple of feet away from them, the marquee announcing 'Ally's Fresh Organic Produce'. "Or shop signs with the owners' names on them."

They walk over, and Jensen quickly checks the license to make sure the last name matches up, too. When it does, both of them pretend to study what's on offer. It's a pretty big stall with an impressive selection. Jared's grandma would love it – she makes the best stew in all of Texas. Jared has to smile, but it turns melancholy in a moment. Who would have thought that his grandma was going to outlive him?

He's glad when a girl with dark eyes, blond hair and a slightly soiled green apron approaches them, taking his mind off his family. "Can I help you with anything?"

To Jared's surprise, Jensen says, "Yeah, I'd like to make a big stir-fry. You know, just lots of colors, different flavors. Could you just pack up a variety of stuff for me? Bell peppers, zucchini, snow peas ... whatever you have, Ally."

"I can do that," she replies with a friendly smile, "but Ally's my mom. I'm Kathy."

"Okay, Kathy." Jensen returns her smile, and it's the widest and most genuine Jared's seen on him yet. "That would be great. I'm Jensen, by the way." He nods towards Jared. "And this is Chad." Jared wants to be pissed, but Jensen's smiling and honest-to-goodness winking at him, so Jared just whispers a mostly good-natured "asshole" under his breath.

Kathy's busy choosing and packing up vegetables for Jensen's stir-fry, weighing them on an old-fashioned scale, chatting away while she does, explaining where they get their produce from and giving them tips for different recipes. She seems like a really nice girl.

Jensen checks his watch and lets Jared see it, too. There are only three minutes left until the ETD, and Jared's worried if everything is going to work out. Or, more accurately, he's not sure he wants things to work out. Maybe the mother's not even here, maybe it's just a mistake (for god's sake, they got the info on a Post-it note – how reliable can that be?), maybe Allison Esposito doesn't have to die today.

"Mom," Kathy shouts over her shoulder, "how much is the leek again?"

"One-fifty or two for two-fifty," a woman's voice comes from behind one of the racks.

Jensen walks around it casually and Jared follows. A woman is kneeling on the ground. She has the same dark eyes as Kathy, but dark hair with gray strands, held up in an untidy bun. She's wearing the same green apron and holds a pair of pliers in her hand. Next to her sits an open tool box.

"Can I help you with anything, ma'am?" Jensen asks, suddenly all southern charm, and lightly touches her shoulder. Jared thinks he can see something, like a spark or a change in the way the air moves, but Allison doesn't seem to notice.

"No, thanks," she says. "I'm fine. Just trying to fix the gas tank here. My daughter" she nods over to Kathy, "thinks it's nothing, but I'm almost sure I smelled gas."

Jensen walks back over to Kathy, who's just tying a bundle of carrots together. She looks up, but, to Jared's surprise, she seems to look right through him and doesn't start chatting about produce or recipes again.

The estimated time of death is almost here, and Jared can't keep from staring in Allison's direction. He positions himself so he has a clear view of her, his one hand holding on to the wooden crate with arugula before him.

Jared doesn't know why, but a man in the background catches his attention. The guy's just getting out of the building behind the stall, wearing a harried expression, gray suit and blue tie. He comes to a halt a few feet from Allison's stall, takes a deep breath and shakes out his shoulders before pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He tries his lighter, but it doesn't seem to work. He tries again and again, but eventually gives up with a sour expression and starts rummaging around in his pockets. When he fishes out a matchbook, he smiles, wide and triumphant. His mouth greedily sucks the filter as he finally lights his cigarette. Inhaling deeply, his eyes close and his whole posture relaxes. He flicks his wrist, the match flying to the ground. Only inches from where Allison is sitting.

The explosion is not like in the movies. It's not huge, and not as loud as Jared would have expected. More like a short, sharp puff, like the engine of an old car misfiring right next to your ear. There's smoke, sure, and some debris, the shredded produce and pieces of the thin wood that the crates are made of, flies through the air, but it's not a spectacle. It's just sad.

At the sound of the explosion, Kathy's head snaps around and she lets go of the string beans in her hand. A few moments later, she's already holding her mother's body in her arms, alternatively blowing air into her mouth and calling for people to get an ambulance.

Instinctively, Jared goes over and puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. She doesn't even seem to notice, just screams for someone to get a fucking doctor.

He looks up and sees Jensen standing right there next to the body with what must be Allison's soul. She looks just like she did before the explosion, and it's strange to see her standing next to her own body. She goes to kneel beside her daughter, but when she tries to touch Kathy, her hand goes right through.

"Get our produce, Jared," Jensen says. "And then let's go."

How Jensen can even think about produce now is beyond Jared. That poor woman just lost her life. That poor girl just lost her mother. He gets the big paper bag anyway, tucking it into the crook of his arm. Maybe Jensen just wants to give him something to do.

When he turns around, Jensen is talking softly to Allison and helps her to get up. "It's alright," he soothes. "I know it's hard, but Kathy's a strong girl. She'll be alright. You just have to let go now."

"But I can't," Allison insists. "I can't just leave her alone here. She's just turned nineteen. She's too young."

"You can," Jensen says, leading her away by the arm, "and you have to. The longer you stay, the longer she won't be able to let you go. You have to leave if you want her to go on."

His voice is so sure and for a moment, Jared just accepts what he is saying, but then he begins to question Jensen's words. How does he know? How is this supposed to work? Is it even true? Jared doesn't voice any of his concerns, though. Right now, it's not about him.

"But she needs me; she needs her mother." Allison's voice is pleading, but Jensen just runs his hand along her back, leading her further and further away.

"You can't go back, Allison," he says. "You know that. You shouldn't hold her back. You should move on."

"But–" She looks at him and her eyes are bright.

Jensen nods. "I know."

She swallows, but then, slowly, starts nodding along with him, like she begins to understand something Jared still doesn't.

The next moment, a strange thing happens. There's a manhole a couple of feet from them, and suddenly, the cover that was dark and dull only a second ago seems to dissolve into white, sparkling light.

Allison turns to look at it and her facial expression changes, like she understands that, too, like this makes sense to her. There's a small, brave smile forming on her lips. She looks at Jensen with knowing eyes. "Down the rabbit hole, right?"

He smiles back and lets his hand drop from her back. "That's right."

"Thank you," she says, and walks up to the hole. Lifting her arms over her head, she just jumps right in, and as soon as the last of her fingertips are swallowed up by the light, it disappears, leaving only the street like it was behind.

"Wow," Jared says, exhaling sharply. After a while, he adds, "Is it always like this?"

Jensen takes a few moments to answer. "The white lights, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"No." Jensen shakes his head slowly, thoughtfully. "They're different for everyone. When the souls accept it, accept that they have to go, the lights just open up. The clients always know."

"And what about Kathy?" Jared says, looking towards the stall where the girl is curled over the dead body of her mother just as the ambulance arrives.

"We're not here for the living, Jared. We're here for the dead." Jensen's voice doesn't sound as cold as the words would suggest. "The living have people to take care of them. They have a support system. The dead only have us."

Jared takes a deep breath. He supposes that's true. Kathy's such a nice girl, he's sure she has good friends. She probably has other relatives: her father, brothers and sisters, maybe. It reminds him of his own family. Jared knows they love him, knows they must be incredibly sad, but he also knows that they'll be there for each other. He still remembers his grandpa's funeral a few years ago, how everyone got together, how they hugged and cried and ate casserole. How they exchanged stories about grandpa until their tears weren't just from crying anymore, but from laughing so hard – because grandpa Padalecki was a funny bastard.

So yeah, Jared's sure they'll get over it, they'll be alright. Almost sure.

"Let's go, Jared," Jensen says. "I still need some beef for the stir-fry."

\--

Jensen's apartment is cramped and dark and in the same building as a low-key tapas bar. It's also a complete mess.

In the living room, there's a corduroy couch that's clearly seen better days and a coffee table with a small stack of beer coasters beneath one of its legs to keep it from wobbling. Across from the couch, an old CRT TV set is sitting on an apple crate, but there are no shelves or other furniture. Instead, books, magazines and DVD cases are littering the floor in precarious piles with clothes thrown over them and shoes lying around.

Jensen doesn't seem to care and leads Jared right on through into the kitchen. It's small, but it has a stove, an oven, some work space and even a few cabinets; and apart from a sink full of unwashed dishes, it's surprisingly clean and tidy. Especially in contrast to the living room.

"How about you make yourself useful?" Jensen says and throws a towel at Jared. "You do the dishes while I start with the beef."

As it turns out, Jensen is pretty good at this cooking thing – and fast, too. By the time Jared has the sink full of dishwater and starts washing, Jensen's already done cutting the beef into thin slices and is making a marinade. He uses soy sauce, oil, juice and a host of spices he pulls from one of the cabinets. Of course Jared doesn't know what it will taste like yet, but he's already impressed, especially since his own cooking skills begin and end with reading a take-out menu.

While Jared is drying up, Jensen starts peeling carrots, an old issue of the L.A. Times holding a fast-growing heap of skins.

As soon as Jared's done, Jensen gives him part of the produce – "Wash this and cut out bad spots." – and then immediately goes back to peeling, chopping and slicing, gradually filling two large bowls with vegetables.

They work in silence, and for once, Jared's content to keep his mouth shut. He's had such a strange day, so much to accept and take in, and it's nice to just work with his hands, to let his mind come to rest a little.

He's pouring himself a glass of water from the tab when Jensen swears behind him, "Oh fucking come on." Jared turns around and sees that Jensen's not talking to him. Instead, he's standing on tip-toes in front of one of the cabinets, trying to get the big frying pan that's sitting on top of it.

Jared smiles lazily and walks over. He's been getting things from high places for people ever since his last growth spurt at seventeen. "Let me help you with that." When he extends his arm, though, he realizes that he can't reach the pan either.

Jensen snorts. "Dude, I could have told you that."

Jared tries to stand on tip-toes, too, and stretches his arm as far as it will go, but it doesn't help. With a sheepish look, he turns around and shrugs. "Uh, sorry. I forgot that I'm so much shorter now." Any other day, the fact that he keeps forgetting that he's in another guy's body would probably freak Jared out – hell, the fact that he's in another guy's body to begin with would freak him the fuck out – but today, it's just one more weird thing on a long list.

" _So much shorter?_ " Jensen knits his eyebrows together. "You're, like, about my height." There's a small smirk forming on his lips. "Oh god, you were some kind of giant, weren't you? Freak show material. Just tell me you're going to grab Genevieve and climb the Empire State building once Loretta fleshes you. I'll make sure to bring a camera and put it up on YouTube."

"Right movie, wrong city." Jared grins. "But yeah, I'm 6'4" and change. That's why it's weird to be in this body now, I think. I mean, what am I? Six foot max."

"Hey." Jensen points a finger at him. "You have no reason to complain. Before I got fleshed, I was in this tiny, chubby red-haired dude, and everyone called me Teach."

"Teach? Seriously?"

"Yep," Jensen says and pulls an old lawn chair from behind one of the cabinets, unfolding and positioning it so he can use it to get to the frying pan.

Somehow, Jared feels the need to add, "Don't hate on redheads, though. Damian Lewis is pretty hot."

\--

The stir-fry turns out to be good, very good. And after they're more or less done – Jared keeps stealing forkfuls from the pan sitting on the table – they even manage to have a conversation. Okay, sure, Jensen still doesn't say all that much, but when he does say something, the mean streak is mostly missing from his snark. And yeah, so Jared still finds himself at the butt of the joke a couple of times, but without the edge of resentment, he can actually appreciate Jensen's humor.

"Damn, it's almost seven. I've got to get going," Jensen says suddenly as he checks his watch. "I'll get you some sheets, a tee for the night and a towel. I think I even have a spare toothbrush lying around here somewhere."

Jensen quickly gets everything together and throws it all on the couch. "You can sleep on the couch and watch TV or one of the DVDs over there." He points at the corner and then gives Jared a look. "Other than that: Don't touch my stuff."

And with that, he's out the door.

If he's honest, Jared's a little disappointed to see him go. He has a ton more questions about the reaper business, and he's not sure he's cool with being alone on his first night as a dead man. But then he remembers that he saw Independence Day on top of the DVD pile earlier, and he figures a little mindless entertainment might do him some good.

By the time the captured alien at Area 51 forms a telepathic connection with the president, Jared's thoughts drift to the connect between him and Jensen. Judging from earlier, the fact that he doesn't feel like throwing up means that Jensen can't be far away. Huh.

For a moment, Jared wants to rush out of the apartment and find Jensen, find out why the guy left him here alone when it's obvious that he can't have gone far, but then Jared decides that it's just another strange thing on an overall strange day and turns his attention back to Bill Pullman. So yeah, Jared loves the 'freedom from annihilation' speech, but somehow, he still likes Pullman best as Lone Starr.

\--

The next day, Loretta tells Jared that he's not going to be working with Jensen again. Before he knows it, she's already cut yesterday's connect and made a new one between him and Genevieve.

The switch catches Jared by surprise. He thought he was supposed to shadow each reaper for a couple of days, not just one. He even wonders briefly if Jensen had something to do with it, if he said he didn't want to train Jared anymore, but then he decides that can't be it. After their rough start, they got along okay yesterday, and even though Jensen's clearly not a morning person, he even grunted a "thanks" when he saw that Jared had done the dishes.

Jared's mom would probably have taken his temperature if she'd seen him help around the house without excessive nagging, but he had just wanted to say thanks for the food and the place to sleep, somehow.

Whatever. Jensen's off to see his new client, and Jared's with Genevieve now.

"So…" He walks next to her, chewing on a waffle he took along from breakfast. "How do we get paid, anyway?"

"We don't," she says, and leads him from the broad, sunny street they're on into a dark alleyway. "Don't worry, it's a shortcut. We don't have a lot of time to get to this one."

Jared follows her, still chewing. "What do you mean, we don't get paid? I mean, how are we supposed to pay our rent or buy food?"

"It depends." She takes another turn into an even darker, narrower alley. "You can always take the money from the dead. I mean, it's not like they need it. Some also pawn their client's watches and jewelry. There's this one shop in West Hollywood that takes the newer model smart phones, iPods and stuff without asking questions. All that combined should usually cover your expenses."

"Yeah well." Jared's not convinced. "And what if I don't want to steal from dead people?"

Genevieve turns back to look at him. "I don't think it's stealing when it doesn't really belong to anyone anymore because the owner is, you know, dead." She wrinkles her nose, but Jared wants to think that it's because of the smell coming from the trash cans they're standing next to and not because of him. "Also, we provide a very valuable service for that person. It's only fair that they compensate us in one way or other." She grins brightly and continues walking. "I used to be a lawyer's assistant before I died. Sometimes I miss writing briefs."

They turn another corner and are, surprisingly enough, back on a perfectly respectable street. "Told you it was a shortcut."

"Hmmm," Jared hums. "So I understand why you think it's not stealing, but what if I don't want to do it anyway? Not because it's wrong. Just because …" Jensen didn't go through Allison's pockets yesterday, after all. Okay, so he sort of stole the produce – or, technically, made Jared steal the produce – but it doesn't seem like the same thing. It's not like Kathy would have sold the stuff to anyone else after what happened.

"You can always get a job if you want."

"Huh?" Jared thought he already had a job here.

"A job, you know, a paying one. Nothing high-profile, preferably with flexible hours. Misha works at Universal Studios, helping with the tours and so on, and Jensen's a bus boy, I think, but he doesn't really talk to anyone outside work stuff, so he might not do that anymore."

They reach the Smoothie King outlet where their next client is supposed to be only five minutes before the ETD. "See," Genevieve says, "good thing we took a short cut."

Her eyes scan the area briefly, but the only person on the sidewalk besides them is a bored-looking teenage girl leaning against the store front. Genevieve goes inside, Jared trailing behind. She calls, "Hey Paul," and Jared notices that she pitches her voice just right: loud enough that all people around will hear her, but not loud enough for everyone to look what the fuss is all about.

None of the customers – or personnel – reacts. Genevieve checks her watch again. "Only two minutes left. Shit," she says. "Maybe he'll die just as he gets here." She heads back outside, and calls for Paul again. No reaction, apart from the girl snorting in their general direction before she lets her half-full smoothie cup fall onto the pavement.

Just then, a car parks across the street and a guy hops out. He's in his thirties, white polo shirt, jeans and flip-flops with blond hair and a deep tan. He jogs across the street, and Genevieve looks at him intensely for a moment and then back to the entrance of the smoothie place. She takes a couple of steps forward and brushes by him, making it look like an accidental touch. Jared sees her palm briefly stroke over his arm, and he notices the same change in the way the air moves as he saw with Allison yesterday. The guy must be in a serious hurry, though, because he doesn't spare Genevieve so much as a look – and she's really hot.

Jared can't even complete that thought before the guy steps right onto the smoothie cup the girl dropped a moment ago and slips. He flails and tries to hold his balance, but his flip-flops slide out from under him until it looks like he's doing the splits, and he finally falls forward, head crashing against the glass front door of the shop, smashing it into pieces.

It's disgusting and gruesome, and there's a disturbing amount of blood coming from where the guy's neck is speared onto the jagged glass. Jared wants to throw up a little, but he just swallows hard and looks away.

He hears a gargling sound, and then the guy's soul – Paul's soul – leaves his body and comes to stand next to the mess of shattered, blood-stained glass on the floor.

"What happened?" he says, and he seems disoriented, eyes fixed on his own body, on the white of his shirt that's now splattered with red.

"Look at me, Paul," Genevieve says, and takes both his hands, pulling him so they stand face to face. "You know what happened."

"I ... I died?" he asks, uncertain, his eyes darting between Genevieve's face and his own dead body.

"That's right, Paul, very good." She nods, her voice and expression making her look like a school teacher, her thumbs rubbing circles on the back of Paul's hands. "And what happens after you die?"

"I ... go to heaven?"

She nods again.

"But I haven't been very good all the time," Paul says, and he sounds like a child, like he's talking to Santa Claus. "Can I still go?"

"What do you think?" Genevieve simply looks at him, her school teacher face still in place.

Paul seems to think about it. "Can you take me to a church?" he asks.

"I can do that." Genevieve lets go of his one hand and leads the way. It's not far.

Once inside, Paul kneels down in one of the pews close to the altar, hands clasped together, head held low, praying. Genevieve's palm rests on his shoulder all through it. Jared just hangs back, watching.

After a long while, Paul gets up, and he has a smile on his face. He looks ... content.

There's a small confessional tucked in against the stone walls of the church. As Paul begins to walk towards it, the curtain seems to dissolve into the same sparkling lights as the manhole did. Paul parts the fabric and steps inside. When the curtain falls closed behind him, the lights are gone.

\--

"So how did you know it was him?" Jared asks a few minutes later. "How could you be sure?"

Genevieve grins. "I made an educated guess. The ETD and the address are pretty much never wrong. I saw the path he was coming, I saw the flip-flops he was wearing and that he would walk right into that mess on the pavement."

"But what if you had been wrong?" Jared can't let go of the idea. Can they sever a connection that's not meant to be broken yet? If they can, what happens then? Does the soul simply stay inside the body or does it leave? Can they create zombies? Can they create an army of undead?

Jared's mind should probably not rely on comic books and movies for his worst case scenarios so much.

"Jared," she says a little impatiently. "Didn't you see? We always get specific assignments, and we're not allowed to switch clients. The clients you get, they ... belong to you, in a way. Their needs match up with what you can do, what you can give them. I just knew he would be one of mine."

Genevieve seems so sure. She also doesn't seem like she wants to take this discussion any further.

Jared, on the other hand, wants to ask so much more. Why did she talk to Paul the way she did? Do many souls want to go and pray after they die? Does the constant physical contact do anything? (Or whatever he should call it when a reaper touches a person's soul.) The longer he thinks about it, the more questions he has, but at the same time, he also doesn't want to think about it at all, doesn't want to think about what souls need and want or about Paul's grisly death.

So when Genevieve offers to take him to the greatest hotdog stand in L.A. – "My treat." – he accepts right away.

\--

They spend a nice day together. Genevieve shows him around Venice a little and takes him to the beach, buys him ice cream and tells stories about her old life.

With the sun already low in the sky, they sit down on a small bench close to the waterfront.

"So you grew up in San Francisco, but you never made it to Los Angeles?" Jared asks.

" _Outside_ of San Francisco," she corrects, pointing her empty cone at him for emphasis. "But you're right, it is kind of funny. Especially for an actress."

"Really?" Jared rubs his still-sticky finger together as he looks at her, surprised. "I thought you did something with legal briefs?"

"Legal assistant by day, actress by night," Genevieve says, grinning broadly and stuffing the whole cornet into her mouth.

Jared used to do behind-the-scenes work for his high school's theater group – mainly because of his crush on Aldis Hodge, to be honest – and they share stories about all the things that can go wrong during the production of a play. Looking back, it almost surprises Jared that he didn't die years earlier, like when he tried to operate the lighting console without instructions or that time he lugged around one huge backdrop all by himself.

"Oh wow," Genevieve wheezes after Jared's story about how he accidentally mounted a water feature the wrong way, drenching the first couple of rows in the auditorium. "You sound like a real hazard to everyone in close range. Thank god we're already dead." She says it so casually, like it's no big deal, which it probably isn't for her, but it is for Jared. Before the thought can drag him down, Genevieve's already steered the conversation to a memorable production of _Witness for the Prosecution_ she was part of.

"In the end, though, I really can't complain because all these things – the falling scenery breaking Andrea's arm, the salmonella infection putting out her understudy, even the director's husband leaving her – it all lead up to the fact that I got recast to play Marlene Dietrich's role."

"So many things going wrong, and every single one works in your favor." Jared pauses for effect, but can't entirely hide his amusement. "It almost sounds like you had something to do with all these 'accidents'." He's not above using air quotes.

"Maybe I did," Genevieve replies in a mock-mysterious voice.

Just when Jared's faking an 'I'm scared of you now' face, Genevieve's phone starts ringing.

Jared can't figure out what the conversation is about, but it sounds like the person on the other end wants something and Genevieve's reluctant, but ultimately caves.

When she's done, she snaps her phone shut and turns around with an apologetic expression. "Jared, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can put you up tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

About half an hour later, they're in front of a large apartment building, and Genevieve lets herself and Jared in with a code. She leads him to apartment number 109, where Loretta answers the door.

"Hey Loretta," Genevieve says with a contrite smile. "I'm so sorry to do this, especially on such short notice, but something's come up, and now I can't look after Jared tonight. I need you to cut the connect."

So she 'can't look after' him, Jared thinks with spite. She sounds like she’s talking about a babysitting job or a dog, and it bugs him. It's not like he asked to be here, like he asked for any of this, and now Genevieve makes him feel like a responsibility she wants to get rid of.

"It honestly can't wait," Genevieve tells Loretta. "You know I'd take him along if I could."

He also really appreciates being talked about like he's not even there.

Jared still can't fully believe Genevieve's ditching him, especially without giving him a reason why. She kept apologizing on the way, but refused to explain what happened. It's obvious it has something to do with the phone call, but she wouldn’t talk.

Unlike Jared, Loretta seems unfazed. "If you say it's that important, it's alright," she says and takes both their left hands.

When the connect is cut, Genevieve gives another apologetic smile. "Thanks, Loretta – and I'm sorry, Jared. I really am." She turns around and starts to walk back out. "See you two tomorrow."

Jared's still standing there, rooted to the spot.

"But," he starts, realizes he doesn't even know where to begin, and tries again: "Where am I supposed to go? Where am I supposed to get food? Where the hell am I supposed to sleep? She can't just leave me here."

He's almost shouting the last words, but Loretta doesn't seem concerned at all, and it only irritates Jared more.

"I'm sorry, Jared, but that's how it is around here: sometimes, you just have to improvise. Especially when you're death."

"So, what now?" he asks, his voice harsh and expression pinched. "Do I stay here?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible, sweetheart." She looks at him. "None of my reapers are allowed in here. It's a policy. But I'm sure we'll figure something out." There's a twinkle in her eyes when she adds, "If all else fails, there should be some empty cots at the shelter on such a fine day."

And Jared knows she's kidding, of course he knows, but still he feels his hands stiffen and curl into fists, feels his nails dig painfully into his palms. He's dead, for Christ's sake. Without his family, his friends, his life – and now he doesn't even have a place to sleep for the night, let alone the means to buy himself dinner. And Loretta seems to think it's all a big fucking joke.

He glares at her, anger bubbling just beneath the surface, and it takes all his willpower not to shout, not to reach out and shake her, make her understand.

Instead, he takes a deep, angry breath and huffs, "Thanks a lot," before he turns sharply and starts running.

She calls after him, and he's glad when the door falls shut behind him and he doesn't have to hear her anymore.

\--

A couple of hours later, another door opens in front of him, a body blocking his entry. "Genevieve ditched me, and Loretta told me I should try the shelter."

Jensen snorts a laugh, but he lets the door fall open all the way.

"Sit down and wait on the couch."

After trying for hours to find his way in a city he doesn't know with no money and daylight fading fast, Jared doesn't even try to argue.

Within five minutes, Jensen is back with two bottles of beer and last night's warmed-up leftovers stuffed into some kind of pita bread. Damn, Jared almost forgot how hungry he was.

"I fucking can't believe this shit," he says when he's halfway done with his food. On the one hand, he's feeling better because his stomach is filling up and he has found a place to sleep (or so he hopes). On the other hand, now that his main thoughts don't center on finding Jensen's apartment and getting something to eat anymore, his anger is rising again.

"What?" Jensen asks and takes a drink from his beer.

Jared swallows another big bite. "I didn't sign up for this, you know? I mean, it's not enough that I had to die at twenty-one. Twenty-one, man. Or that I have to live in a city I don't even know my way around. Or that I can't even go to heaven or wherever, but have to hold down a fucking job as a _grim reaper_. A grim reaper, for fuck's sake – and it doesn't even pay."

He's feeling angrier with every word, mad, feels his jaw tighten, his eyes narrowing and his hands squeezing tight around the remains of the pita bread. It's all so unfair.

Jensen's just sitting there with an unreadable expression, but it's not like Jared even wants his input at this point, so he just goes on.

"No, I also get pushed around like a piece of furniture. I have no money, no nothing, I'm fucking _forced_ to completely rely on the person I'm shadowing, and then Genevieve gets a phone call and ditches me because of 'something important'. How fucking important can it be? I died yesterday. Fucking died. I should be the top priority here."

Jensen raises his eyebrow, but still doesn't say anything.

"And Loretta acts like it's okay for her to cut me loose, like it's no big deal to fucking leave me stranded."

He's getting so worked up that he feels the rest of the stir-fry squeezing out of the bread in his hand, making a mess of his fingers. He doesn't care.

"Oh yeah, and of course I can't stay at her place either because it's fucking _policy_. Which, by the way, is an excellent reason for sending someone away who's, you know, fucking _homeless_. Not to mention recently dead."

He glares at Jensen, who's simply looking, holding his gaze, who doesn't seem to react at all, doesn't even blink. Bastard.

"And then she makes a quip about the shelter. The motherfucking shelter, you know? Hilarious, Loretta, fucking hilarious."

Jared throws the remains of his food onto the plate and angrily wipes his hands on his jeans. He looks up at Jensen, a taunt in his eyes, but Jensen stays quiet until Jared can't stand it anymore.

He looks at his hands instead, sees how his knuckles stand out, his fists are clamped so tight. There's a bit of sweat he can feel at the hollow of his throat, his breathing a little out of control and his face a little too hot. Even as he catalogues this, as he realizes the tense state he is in, he involuntarily begins to calm down, at least a little. Hard to stay mad without fuel.

It seems like a long time before Jensen breaks the silence.

"Are you done?"

Jared's not sure what he expected him to say, but that sure as hell wasn't it. "What?" he asks, and immediately feels stupid.

"I said: Are you done?" Jensen replies, voice level.

"Yeah, I got that," Jared says. And okay, just like that, Jared's back from slightly confused to definitely pissed off. "Sorry if my problem with being shoved out onto the streets with no place to go is taking up your precious time. Sorry if me being upset because, oh, I only fucking died yesterday is raining on your parade. Sorry if I took advantage of your precious hospitability."

Before he knows it, he's up on his feet again, crossing the small space of Jensen's living room. He feels hot, his heart hammering, his breathing so ragged that it shakes his whole body.

"I'll just go. Thanks for the meal," he spits without turning around and reaches for the door knob.

And suddenly, Jensen's there, gripping hard at Jared's shoulder, spinning him around and pinning him against the wall next to the apartment door.

"Let me go," Jared shouts and tries to push at Jensen's arm, tries to get away, but he just can't shake him; the guy is stronger than he looks. All lean muscle and determination. He's close, too, his body right in front of Jared, blocking out everything else, holding tight as Jared tries to squirm away, to twist out of his grasp.

"Get off of me," he demands, but Jensen's grip doesn't loosen.

Jared wishes he were taller, bigger, more muscular; that he were still himself. Nothing of this would have happened if he were still himself. There's a wet burn licking inside his nose and he grinds his teeth, pushing his chin up in defiance as his body grows still. He's not giving up, he's not, but he knows that right now, with the iron grip Jensen has him in, there's no chance he'll get away. Might as well save his strength.

Jensen takes a step closer, getting toe-to-toe with Jared. His voice is low, his mouth close when he says, "Snap out of it."

"Fuck you," Jared hisses, straining against Jensen's hold again. It's still no use.

"Would you take a second and actually think here, Jared?" Jensen's voice is so calm, collected – it's fucking infuriating. "You're not the only one this has happened to, you know? We're all dead, we've all had to leave our lives behind. Every one of us has had to deal with this shit way longer than you have." Jensen's lips press together for a moment, and he gives Jared a pointed look. "And it's not like any of us has a clue what's really going on here. It's not our fault that you died, it's not our fault you didn't get your white lights – none of us did – and it's not our fault that life after death isn't well organized enough for you."

"Genevieve _ditched_ me, she fucking left me to fight for myself," Jared says through clenched teeth, his back still pressed against the wall. He doesn't want to hear what Jensen has to say, doesn't want to hear or care about the other reapers right now.

"No, she didn't." Jensen shakes his head slowly. "She left you with Loretta because something came up. She left you in good hands."

"Yeah, great hands," Jared says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Leaving me with a woman who wants me to try the shelter."

Jensen cocks his head, his eyes holding Jared's gaze. "You said yourself that it was a joke."

"Yeah, so what? It was a bad fucking joke." He doesn't want to let go of his anger, doesn't want to calm down and think more clearly, but in spite of himself, he starts seeing where Jensen's coming from.

"Maybe it was," Jensen concedes, "but a bad joke is not the end of the world. I know Loretta would have helped you find a place. And you know that, too."

Jared wants to deny it, but he can't. He barely manages to keep himself from nodding, but he still has his pride. He doesn't want to just give in, give up.

After a long moment, Jensen's hands fall from Jared's shoulders and he takes a few steps back. This is Jared's chance to turn around and leave, to run like he wanted, but somehow, his body won't move.

The way Jensen looks at him is almost sympathetic. "I'm sorry you died. I'm sorry," he gestures at Jared's torso, "you're not yourself. I'm sorry things don't always work out." His gaze cuts away from Jared, and he scratches at the hair behind his ear. "Just don't take it out on the others. Gen and Loretta are good people. Even Misha is. We're all trying."

This time, Jared doesn't keep himself from nodding in response.

Slowly, Jensen steps back into the room and waves for Jared to follow.

"Halo or Madden?" he asks as he gets out the controllers for his old, battered Xbox.

When Jensen hands him his controller, Jared takes it with a small, lopsided smile. He catches Jensen's eyes for a moment. "Thanks, man."

\--

When Jensen and Jared arrive together at the Waffle House the next day, Genevieve greets them with a wide, relieved smile.

"I'm glad you found a place to stay last night," she says. "And I'm sorry for leaving you hanging. Honestly."

Jared waves her off. He's kind of embarrassed about last night, even if Genevieve wasn't even there for the worst of it. He kind of hopes Loretta didn't say anything. "It's cool. Just buy me a muffin or something."

The person he's really embarrassed to see is Loretta herself. Taking it out on her like that yesterday when she obviously just wanted to ease the tension – that wasn't exactly Jared's best moment. An apology is the least he owes her.

Misha has just started one of his more elaborate, _When Harry Met Sally_ -style orders when Jared catches Loretta's eye. "I'm sorry for last night," he says in a quiet voice. "I was just …"

"It's okay," she cuts in when he doesn't continue. "But you're alright now, are you?"

"Yeah." Jared gives her a small smile, right before Robert asks what he'll have for breakfast this morning.

They're waiting for their food, and apparently Jensen can no longer keep himself from teasing Genevieve about disappearing last night. She still won't talk, though, which only serves to pique his interest further. He starts making a string of suggestions that become more and more outrageous as he really gets into it. Jared doesn't even try to hold back, and it's entirely possible that his inappropriately loud laughs spur Jensen on.

Finally, Jared can no longer resist and jumps in with his own ludicrous story. Jensen just gives him a look. "Honestly, Jared? That sounds like the lovechild of a Lifetime movie and Halo 2."

Jared opens his mouth to protest, but hesitates. Jensen's not wrong. At least about the Halo part. But hey, they spent several hours playing last night. No wonder it's still on his mind.

Jensen uses the pause to add smugly, "Just leave the theorizing to the professionals."

There's no way Jared can let that slide. "Whatever, man. You're just bitter 'cause I owned your ass last night."

Jensen doesn't have a smart comeback for that, only huffs in response, so Jared counts it as a win. He also doesn't try to help Jensen with his theories anymore. The truth is, the guy's just much better at making shit up than Jared is.

When Jensen gets to an elaborate scenario involving double agents, caviar smuggling, drug cartels and high-class call girls (to his credit, Genevieve is not one of the call girls in this setting), Loretta's at the end of her tether: "Shut your mouth, boy, or I'm going to whack you with a spoon."

"She's not kidding," Misha says, grinning at Jared as he deliberately licks clean his own spoon. "Jensen gets hit a lot."

"Only because he deserves it, though," Genevieve adds.

"That's true." Jensen nods proudly. "I have to work for it every damn time."

Jared wouldn't necessarily admit it, but he's a little disappointed when he gets paired up with Misha for the day.

\--

"Yes, Sherman, your mother is waiting for you on the other side. She's looking forward to seeing you very much." Misha's voice is low and soothing as he talks to the little bald man who just choked to death on a Cinnabon.

"But … but what about what I did? Isn't she still angry with me?" Sherman's voice sounds small, and he looks up at Misha with wide eyes, still clutching at his baseball cap.

"Of course she's not mad, Sherman. Of course not. She's just glad to see you again. She loves you so much." Where Jensen and Genevieve had this sort of authority when talking to the souls, Misha has an air of complete and utter serenity. It really seems to have a calming effect on Sherman, who was shouting and crying only a couple of minutes ago and kept trying to reenter his old body.

"Accept it, Sherman. Accept and embrace the truth." Misha smiles. "Then you can go and see her. You can see everyone. They all look forward to meeting you again. They all love you."

Sherman bites his lip, eyes a little watery.

"And they forgive you," Misha adds.

Sherman takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, smiling gratefully at Misha. In front of them, the double doors of The Gap begin to glitter and sparkle like the surface of a lake on an especially sunny day. Sherman walks over there a little reluctantly, but when he looks back and Misha gives him an encouraging nod, he enters, doors flittering like liquid, and then he's gone. The light and sparkles disappear with him.

When Jared looks back at Misha, Misha grins and asks, "Cinnabon?"

He gets a well-worn black wallet out of his jacket pocket and waves it in front of Jared. "Sherman's buying."

Jared looks at him in disbelief. "You stole his wallet?"

"Sure did." Misha just smirks wider. Jared can hardly believe this. It really doesn't go with the 'I'm here to take care of you' speech Misha gave Sherman only minutes earlier.

After his conversation with Genevieve, he doesn't want to risk coming across as judgmental again, so he simply asks, "How did you do it? I didn't notice anything."

"Practice, boy, practice." Misha says as he leads Jared away from the Cinnabon stand and towards Auntie Anne's on the other side of the food court. "When I was kneeling next to his body and convinced him to stop trying to reenter the remains – that's when I snatched this. I mean, we're unnoticeable until they go into the lights, so you usually have plenty of time. You can even swipe other people's wallets while you're at it. Get out the cash, then put them back. It only takes a couple of seconds." He brings the wallet next to his face and raises his eyebrows questioningly. "Pretzel?"

For a moment, Jared doesn't know what to say, but in the end, his stomach wins out. "Almond with caramel dip please."

It shouldn't bother him that Misha took the wallet. He has heard Genevieve's arguments, and they make a good deal of sense. It's not like Sherman still needs money where he's going (or at least Jared assumes he doesn’t) – and he didn't mention a partner or spouse or whatever, so ... Still, Jared's not sure he wants to do that. And the fact that Misha uses the unnoticeability thing for picking people's pockets? It's just another thing Jared would rather not think about.

After they get their pretzels and sodas, they sit down at one of the tables. "So," Jared asks, "how did you know all this stuff about his mom and his relatives?" He's really curious about that one.

"I didn't," Misha sucks some sauce from his index finger. "I made it up, told him what he wanted to hear."

"That means no one's waiting for him? He won't see those people you were talking about?" Jared's kind of shocked. Misha seemed so sincere.

Misha simply shrugs. "How should I know? He might – or not. My job is to make them accept their death and get them into the lights. I'll say everything that helps to get that job done." He gives Jared a look. "I mean, what's the alternative? Not convincing him that he's dead and should go into the lights? Not getting him into the lights? And what would happen then, huh?"

"Yeah," Jared says, feeling stubborn all of a sudden. "What does happen then?"

Misha remains calm. "I don't know, Jared. What does happen to souls that don't pass over and just roam the earth? I really have no idea, but it doesn't sound like a good thing, somehow. I mean, that's why we're here, I guess. That's why they need reapers."

Jared thinks about this for a minute. It's true; Sherman's soul/body connection had already been severed. It's not like he could have just gotten back. And what should he have done without a body and a purpose? It really doesn't sound so good.

"I suppose you're right. It's just ... it's a lot to take in, you know?"

Misha's grinning again. "I know, I know. I mean, it's been a while since I died, but I still remember how it was at first." He stuffs the rest of his pretzel into his mouth. "I thought I was on a bad trip after Loretta had reaped me. She had to shake me out of it – emptied a can of Dr Pepper over my head, too. That finally sobered me up a little, but I smelled like soda all day."

"When did you die?" Jared blurts out. He's not sure whether it's bad etiquette to ask a dead person that, but it's too late now anyway. Until this moment, he hasn't really thought about how long the others might have been doing this job already. He doesn't even know if reapers still age in a physical way, but he doubts it.

"Late seventies." Misha sighs fondly. "Man, good times. I think I jumped ship right before things got complicated."

\--

In spite of his money-making advice earlier, Misha doesn't seem as good at getting cash as Genevieve because he still has to work five days a week. Today, it's his turn as guide for the Universal Studios afternoon tours. They take a bus that stops right at the entrance and Misha smuggles Jared in. Thanks to the whole living-people-don't-really-pay-a-lot-of-attention-to-you-anymore thing all reapers have going, it's not as hard as it sounds.

Since they can't be too far apart, Jared just finds a seat in the corner of one of the trams and goes on tour after tour with Misha. Misha's nice enough to give him a thriller novel someone left in the employee locker room, so when the initial excitement of the tour wears off, Jared has something to keep him occupied, at least. He'd much rather be checking out some of the other attractions, but the memory of the connect turning his guts inside out makes him reconsider. Maybe Dean Koontz is not so bad.

When Misha's shift is finally over, it's already past sundown.

"Oh god, all I want to do right now is lie down," Misha says. "My vocal chords really need a break after all that talking."

Earlier, Jared made Misha swear that he could stay with him no matter what before Loretta formed the new connect. He really doesn't need that kind of surprise again.

Misha leads him to a park not too far from the main studio entrance and walks through some hedges. There's a clearing where someone seems to have set up camp with a camping mat, sleeping bag, a small fireplace and a big canister of water.

Misha opens his arms wide. "Mi casa es su casa."

Jared takes a moment to process this. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What's wrong?" Misha seems honestly baffled.

"This is not where I'm supposed to sleep tonight, right?" Jared's voice might be squeaking a little, but he doesn't care.

"Of course it is. I love being out in nature, with the sky as my blanket and the wind as my lullaby."

Jared can't believe the guy just said that. Even for someone who died in the seventies – and from a bad acid trip, as it seems, – that's a little too new age-y.

"There's no bed. There's not even a second sleeping bag." Jared does his best to stay calm; he's not doing so well.

"You can have the camping mat," Misha offers. "It's nice out here, I promise. Sometimes, one of the homeless finds me here, and most of them are okay. Not very social, but some have really good stories to tell, especially once you get a few drinks in them."

Homeless people who are 'mostly okay'? Spending the night in a park in the middle of L.A., one of the cities with the highest crime rates in the country? Jared’s watched _The Shield_ before – he definitely doesn't want to take that risk.

Okay, so Jared's dead now, and maybe that means that he shouldn't worry as much, but dead or not – he really doesn't want to become the victim of a violent crime. He also wants an actual blanket and four walls around him, and a bathroom he can use. This situation is unacceptable. There's no way he's spending the night here.

Jared doesn't care how much Misha wants to lie down after work. They're definitely off to see Loretta.

\--

By the time Jared knocks on Jensen's apartment door, he seems to have been asleep already, if the state of his hair and his rumpled t-shirt and boxers are anything to go by.

"If you keep showing up here, you should start paying rent, buddy," is all he says as he lets Jared in.

Jared just grins and takes his spot on the couch. Once Jensen's back in his own room, Jared sneaks into the kitchen and steals a pop-tart.

\--

All in all, Jared seems to be doing okay with the reaping apprentice thing. After only one day with each of his colleagues, Loretta is going to take him with her today, see for herself how well he does, and then flesh him, hopefully.

That's good news, as far as Jared's concerned. He's looking forward to getting his own body back, feeling more comfortable in his skin. In the shower this morning, he didn't even dare to jerk off because it felt wrong doing that to a body not his own. Well, at least without buying the guy dinner first.

The job Loretta takes him along to turns out to be harder than the ones before. Jared's felt genuinely sorry for all clients he's met so far, especially for Allison, who seemed so nice and down-to-earth, but for Sherman, too, who was so scared – and even Paul. He might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but it was still touching to see how he tried to make his peace before going into the lights.

This time, though, it's a little girl. Maybe eight years old. Jared sees it coming, even before Loretta touches her.

They're at a small fair, and the girl, Melinda, loves this ride called Mediterranean Waves. It has cars in five different colors, and Jared overhears her making her parents promise that they'll ride every color once (" _At least_ once, mommy!").

The yellow car seems shabbier than the others, in need of repair, and when looking closely, as Jared does, you can see how the security bars for the middle seat don't really engage properly. The ride is never full, though, and somehow, no one chooses the yellow car.

When Jared realizes what's going to happen, he tells Loretta. "It's probably just a loose screw or something. We can just tell the operator, you know?" he says, but Loretta doesn't look like that's an option. Jared goes on, "We can fix this, easy. She doesn't have to die, not like this. Not if we can help it." It seems so pointless, stupid.

Loretta puts her hand over his arm and looks him in the eye. "I know how you feel, Jared, I do. But it's not that easy. We're not here to prevent accidents. We are here to help those who won't survive them." It reminds him a little of what Jensen said, that they're not here for the living, but it's still hard to process.

"But this one would be so easy to fix for us," he pleads. "Loretta, she's only a kid."

"I know. I know and I'm sorry, but it's her time." Her smile is small and wistful, but clearly there. "We all have our time. Your friend couldn't have saved you, you know. No one could have. The time comes and then it's here. The only choice is between accepting the lights or not. And even that choice is not ours."

Jared takes a deep breath, but he feels himself nodding ever-so-lightly.

"Our job is to help with the transition, help with the choice." Loretta pats his forearm and then goes over to Melinda and her parents, who are just climbing out off the pink car.

She smiles brightly at them. "Now that looks like a fun ride, young lady."

"It is," Melinda says loudly, almost shouting, and smiles wide with a gap in her teeth. "I want to go again."

"Sorry," her mom says and gives Loretta an apologetic shrug, "but she really loves the Waves."

"No worries," Loretta says, "she seems like a wonderful child." She quickly strokes her hand along the girl's shoulder. "Have fun, darling."

A few minutes later, the safety bar snaps open right on the sharpest turn of the ride, and Melinda gets thrown from the car like a rag doll. Her soul leaves her body pretty much the second she hits the ground, so Jared guesses her neck snapped immediately on impact. Small mercies, he thinks.

"Come here, sweetheart," Loretta says and holds out her hand.

\--

Almost two hours later, Jared and Loretta sit on a park bench much like the one Jared came to on the first time they met.

Jared's quiet, but it's not like he's really thinking. It's more that he's trying not to think, to keep his mind blank. He has to admit that Loretta was great with the girl. Nice and calm and careful. She was great with Jared, too, pulling him into the conversation, making him part of the process, not letting him be just an observer anymore. It's the first time he's really interacted with a soul.

They answered Melinda's questions together, Loretta helping him out whenever he needed it. The girl was sweet and not as upset as Jared would have expected, but she seemed to sense the weight of the situation. She had a lot of questions, and even though she was just a child, Loretta didn't try to move things along and pull the grown-up card. She didn't resort to lies or sugarcoating like Misha either. Instead, she made sure that they gave Melinda time, answered her questions earnestly and let her talk about her parents and her school teacher and her aunt who was already in heaven.

Jared's always been pretty good with children. He’d been a counselor at a summer camp all through college, and at times, talking to Melinda felt a bit like he was explaining the water safety rules to the kids. Loretta made it all seem so … okay. Almost normal.

After an hour or so, Melinda put on a determined smile, gave Loretta a short hug and touched Jared's hand before jumping right into a giant bowl of glittering, sparkling cotton candy. And then she was gone.

Jared kicks at the grass under his shoes, his hands gripping tight around the wood of the bench. It all feels so pointless.

"I know it is hard," Loretta says quietly. "But I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you accepted the job that needed to be done, and that you held back your own feelings. That's what makes a good reaper."

And isn't that something to be proud of? Being good at taking people's lives from them.

"What," Jared taunts, glaring at her, "not feeling sorry when a little girl has to die?"

Loretta doesn't rise to the bait. "No, Jared. You _should_ feel with the clients; it's good to be sorry about their deaths. After all these years, I'm still sorry every time. What makes me good at my job – and what I think will make you be good at it, too – is that I can push my own feelings aside." She turns a little, so she can look at him fully. "You didn't cry in front of her, you didn't say that you thought it was unfair. I saw how you smiled at her when she looked at you. You were friendly and kind. That's what the souls need. They need to feel that we're their friends." She nods emphatically. "Because we are."

"But she was only a kid!" Jared shouts. "I mean, how old was she? Seven, eight? What about her parents?"

"Yes, Jared," Loretta says. "She was a young child, and everyone thought she had her whole future ahead of her. It's a tragedy. It's a tragedy for her parents, for her relatives, her neighbors, her friends – for everyone but her." She puts her hand on Jared's thigh, just like the first time they met. "Because she is where she needs to be, because she's at peace. And all these people, they'll find their peace, too, eventually."

"So we can't save anyone? Never? Not a single one?" he asks and hates how small his voice sounds.

"Believe me, Jared. We save them by what we do."

He smiles derisively at that, but Loretta surprises him with what she says next. "You know what? You could have prevented it. You could have gone and told the ride operator about the defect."

Jared just looks at her, confused.

"But do you know what happens to souls that aren't reaped when it's time? Souls that get to stay in bodies that are no longer meant for them?"

He shakes his head slowly.

"They ... deteriorate. Like milk or fruit. They go bad. It's not something you wish for anyone. It's definitively not something you wish on a little girl and her parents. When it's time, it's time. We're here to help by what we do. When we break the rules, the natural order, we don't serve the souls anymore; we just serve our own selves."

They sit there in silence for at least another half hour, and Jared's relieved when Loretta finally takes his hand and cuts the connect. He wants to just be by himself for a while, take a walk, clear his head.

By the time he knocks, Jensen's already home. He doesn't ask questions when he sees Jared, just feeds him some chili and finds an action flick on TV later.

Jared's glad he doesn't make him talk about it.

\--

"What can I get everyone?" Robert the waiter asks, but – as always – he's only really looking at Loretta. It's a little ridiculous how he's trying to flirt with her. He even said she looked 'fetching' yesterday.

Before anyone can get out their order, Loretta announces, "It's Chad's last day, so I'm buying."

After that, they all orders a lot more than they usually do – and Loretta herself gets a full breakfast platter with double waffles, double hashed browns and double bacon.

When the food arrives and everyone's digging in, Jared remembers that he had a question. "Now that it looks like I'll be here permanently, I thought about getting a job. But I don't really know how. I mean, I don't have a social security number or even a driver's license anymore." He looks around the table and thinks that he sees Jensen nodding slightly, like he maybe thinks Jared's making a good choice here. "So, how do you guys do it?"

"You already know how I do it, mostly," Misha says, and puts another forkful of scrambled eggs with Worchester sauce into his mouth.

"Likewise." Genevieve shrugs.

"But if you're looking for an actual, morally unambiguous job, Misha knows a guy who can help you with the paperwork." Jensen glares at Misha a little. "Isn't that right, Misha?"

Misha's still chewing, but nods.

Jared looks over at Jensen and smirks a little. "And by 'a guy' you mean a forger, right?"

"Damn straight I do." Jensen grins back and spears a piece of sausage with his fork.

\--

Once everyone's finished, Loretta hands out their assignments for the day, and Jared gets his very own client for the first time. It's weird to finally have his own little Post-it note, and suddenly he remembers that he doesn't know his way around L.A. at all. He doesn't even have a map or anything. How is he supposed to find the right address, let alone get there in time?

Loretta seems to pretty much read his thoughts. "Jared, don't worry about your assignment too much. I’ll only hand out double assignments for you and another reaper for a while, until you're more comfortable with the job and have a better idea of the layout of the city."

Jared's embarrassingly thankful to hear that.

"Now off you go, everyone." She makes a shooing hand gesture. "Jensen, you and Jared come with me."

\--

Loretta brings them back to the building where her office (Or is it her apartment? Jared's not entirely clear on that.) is located, but instead of following the corridor to 109, they take down the stairs to the basement and walk into a small, square room with white-washed walls and absolutely nothing else in it.

Loretta holds both of Jared's hands in hers this time and asks him to close his eyes. He does so and waits. He hears her breathing grow louder, feels her grip tightening and her palms getting damp. Other than that, he feels nothing.

He wonders if he's supposed to do something. Maybe concentrate on what his old body looked like? Remember how it felt to stand and walk and sit and lie down? Imagine being back in it?

There's a wisp of wind, a feeling like going weak in the knees, like his plane hits an air hole and his stomach bottoms out, and then Loretta lets go of his hands.

When Jared opens his eyes again, Loretta seems a little smaller, and when he looks over, Jensen does, too.

For a moment, Jensen looks at him strangely, his eyes travelling down Jared's body, assessing him, and Jared thinks there's something more than just surprise on his face. When Jensen notices Jared looking back, his features take on their standard bored-with-a-side-of-snark expression, but he doesn't look away.

"Okay, boys. That’s it. Go ahead and leave now. I'll need a moment here," Loretta says, sounding exhausted, and ushers them out.

When they walk out into the sun, Jared finally takes the time to examine his new old body. He wiggles his fingers, stretches his arms and kicks out his legs. Everything's a little longer, a little more muscular, a little more like he's used to.

Soon, he notices something else that's familiar. "Hey, that's my Longhorns t-shirt," he almost shouts, "and these are my jeans, too. Even the sandals are mine."

Jensen grins. "Yeah, when you're being fleshed, you usually get some of your favorite clothes with it. Don't ask me why, I don't know how it works either." He gives a light shrug. "Sophia – the girl who got a transfer – wound up wearing a snuggie."

Jared burst out laughing. "For real?" It feels good; the laugh is louder, more booming than before, more like his own. The sun feels better on his skin, too. He's glad to have his body back.

"It had starships on it."

When Jared rummages around in his pockets, there's even a couple of twenties in there. He holds them up like a trophy.

"Lucky bastard," Jensen says, but he's smiling.

\--

"What can I get you this morning?" Robert asks with a big smile. After almost two weeks, Jared's still amazed by how much the guy's face changes when he smiles. He's even more amazed that Robert honestly doesn't seem to mind wearing lederhosen and striped knee socks to work.

Jensen takes the Bavarian Waffle Works while Jared goes for the Oompha Oompha Breakfast Special and an extra blueberry muffin.

"Sorry, blueberry are out." Robert shrugs apologetically.

"On the one day I'm here early," Jared grumbles, but they have vanilla streusel ones on the menu, too, so it's all good.

Just as Robert brings their coffee, Genevieve and Misha arrive, and after they've placed their orders, Jared finally remembers a question he's been meaning to ask. "You know, I noticed that all of you seem to be touching the clients a lot." Genevieve gives him a 'yeah, so?' kind of look. "I guess I'm just wondering if there's a special reason for that, if it does anything."

Misha stabs his finger in Jared's direction. Jared's already figured out that he does things like that sometimes, but since he's usually mellow to the point of comatose, it still comes as a surprise. "That's a good question. I've been wondering the same thing."

"Here we go." Jensen rolls his eyes.

"It's Conspiracy Theory Day again at the Waffle House," Genevieve says in a disturbingly good imitation of the _Jerry Springer_ voice-overs.

Misha doesn't acknowledge either reaction, and just leans across the table, closer to Jared. "I think these bodies they're making for us, they give off a drug, something like an anti-depressants," he says in a low voice, "something to make the souls complacent and go along with everything." He gives Jared a meaningful look. "Something to keep everyone happy and inside the system. A little like in _The Matrix_."

Jared looks at him skeptically, but before he can point out that the bodies in _The Matrix_ were exploited for energy, not manipulated to drug people, Misha continues, "Only that they don't need the client's bodies, but their souls." He whispers more urgently, "And because we are _in_ these bodies, we can't break free, because the drugs are _within ourselves_."

Suddenly, he slaps both his palms on the table. "That's why we don't mutiny. That's why we just bend over and take it."

That's the moment Jared realizes how great this other-people-don't-really-notice-us-the-way-they-do-regular-people thing really is because otherwise Misha's little outburst would be kind of embarrassing. Surprisingly, it's also over as soon as it began, and when Jensen says, "You really shouldn't be taking your first hit before you come to work in the morning," Misha's already slumped back into his corner.

"Good morning, everyone," Loretta says and takes a chair to sit down at the table. "Sorry I'm late. I had some business to take care off."

Right then, Robert shows up with their orders. "Good morning, Loretta. You look especially lovely today, if you don't mind my saying so," he tells her, and Jared has to give him props for getting everyone the right plate, even though he's only looking at her.

"Thank you, Robert," she says, smiling coyly, her eyes cutting away as she straightens out a non-existent wrinkle in her flowery dress. After a moment, she adds, "I'll take the usual."

Since her usual includes a blueberry muffin, Jared warns her that they're out.

"Don't worry," Robert says in a conspiratorial voice. "I saved you the last one."

Loretta's face lights up. "Oh, thank you, Robert. That's very kind of you."

"This is so unfair," Jared mumbles around a forkful of hashed browns. "I was here first."

"That's what you get for not looking _especially lovely_ today," Jensen cackles. Jared reacts by punching him in the arm.

\--

Jared's assignment later that day is together with Jensen. It's no surprise since he's mostly been paired up with Jensen so far. Not that he minds.

They have over an hour to get to the scene of the accident, so they walk.

After a while, Jared asks: "Did you mean that earlier? Does Misha really still do drugs?"

The question earns him Jensen's patented eyebrow raise. "Jared, think about it: The guy is, like, king of thieves, and he still looks like a bum, works at Universal and sleeps in shelters or outside. What does that tell you?"

When Jensen puts it like that …

"Wait a minute. So you knew he didn't have an apartment when Loretta paired us up?" He gapes at Jensen a little. "You knew and you didn't even say anything, you fucker." Jared pushes at Jensen's shoulder, hard, but he has to laugh in spite of himself.

"Sure did." Jensen grins, pushing his tongue between his teeth as he does. "Let you sleep on the couch, though, right?"

And yeah, Jared can't argue with that.

\--

"Don't push before I say so, idiot. You just punched me in the throat there," Jensen hollers down the stairwell.

"I'm real sorry, asshole. It's not like this thing is heavy or anything," Jared pants from the foot of the stairs.

Earlier at Goodwill, it had seemed like such a good idea to get a bigger couch – a sofa bed, to be exact – so Jared wouldn't have to curl up into a ball every night. An hour and four flights of stairs later, Jared really doesn't think so anymore. In fact, he's just about ready pull the damn thing apart and set the pieces on fire. But they're almost there, only a couple more steps to go, so he tries to calm himself down and not turn into the Incredible Hulk.

"You good now?" he asks, keeping his voice down this time. "Can I start pushing again?"

\--

Ten minutes later, they're done. The old couch is shoved into the corner – because, seriously, there's no way they'll try and maneuver another huge-ass piece of furniture through that tiny staircase any time soon – and the 'gently used' (as the clerk at Goodwill put it) new one is positioned at the perfect distance and angle to the TV set.

Jared takes a deep breath and falls back into the cushions, closing his eyes. He's sweaty and a little gross, but he doesn't even care. All he does is look forward to not waking up with kinks in his back every morning. Thank god for his first payday.

He's about to shout something to that effect in Jensen's direction, when a cold beer bottle is pressed into his hand. A second later, the other end of the couch dips, and there's a long exhale. He glances over at Jensen, who looks just as winded as Jared feels, his head leaned back against the couch and his legs stretched out just like Jared's. They click their bottle necks together and both gulp down half their beers in one go.

"Thanks, man," Jared says. His head's lolling to the side, and he takes the opportunity to look at Jensen, who has his eyes closed, thick lashes dark against his unnaturally pale skin.

It's weird to remember that not even two weeks ago, he thought the guy was a complete douchebag. Since then, Jensen's given Jared a place to sleep, fed him and even helped him get a job as a bus boy at the Italian place across the street.

And when Jared got his first pay this morning (cash, fortunately, because he doesn't even have an account for cashing checks anymore), it was Jensen's idea to get some more clothes and a sofa-bed for him at Goodwill instead of Jared paying his full share of the rent.

So yeah, Jensen's still snarky and a little too smug and full of himself sometimes, but when Jared calls him out on his shit, he can take it. Of course, he uses every chance he gets to call Jared out on his shit in turn. And when he's got Jared good, when Jensen's right and he knows it and he realizes that Jared knows it, too, his eyes turn brighter and his grin grows so real and wide that Jared can't help grinning back, even though he's losing the argument.

And that's when it always stops. That's the point where Jensen's face falls and he coughs and gets more beer or puts in another DVD or has to take a leak all of a sudden.

But Jared doesn't dwell on that. He thinks too much about Jensen as it is.

Like right now, when he can't think of anything else. Jensen's face is a little damp with sweat and there are beads of it gathered along his hairline. He doesn't just look worn out, though. No, he looks strangely relaxed, about ready to fall asleep from the exhaustion of moving that monster couch around. His mouth is slack and his whole body is molded into the soft sofa cushions. There's a sliver of sunlight cutting right across his cheek, and Jared can see a few freckles there, faint and barely there.

He wants to reach out and touch Jensen's face, wipe the sweat away and maybe trace the shape of his mouth with his fingers.

Instead, he burps loudly. "Sorry, man. That's the beer talking," he says and knocks the top of his fist against his chest for good measure.

Jensen opens one eye and looks at him. "How about you get us a couple more and find a take-out menu somewhere? I'm definitely not gonna cook tonight."

\--

After about a month, Loretta gives Jared his first solo assignment.

He's reaped plenty of souls at this point, so it shouldn't be a big deal. It still feels like one though.

He has some time until the ETD, so he decides to walk. Truth is, since their assignments are usually no more than a couple of miles from the Waffle House, he and his colleagues walk most of the time. For Jared, it's partly that he doesn't feel comfortable being cramped into the small space of a rail car or bus compartment anymore. It's never bothered him before, but now it feels wrong to be so close to the living.

He arrives at the square where his next client is supposed to be with plenty of time to spare. The place is busy with people, many of them obviously students. There's some kind of info fair going on, and people have put up banners with animal rights slogans and set up tables where they give out brochures and pamphlets.

Jared wanders around for a while, passing the time and signing a couple of petitions. In college, he used to help out at the shelter, took the big dogs for regular walks. He went to a couple of animal rights rallies, too. But that was before.

Man, he suddenly misses those dogs.

When he checks his watch, it's still half an hour till the ETD, but he should probably start looking for his client anyway. He hopes she's one of the volunteers here and not just a passerby. Those are always a pain to identify, and he hates not knowing until the last minute.

He's just started looking for someone of Asian descent when he hears a male voice shout, "Hey, Mimi, what's cooking?" right next to his ear. He startles and turns and almost crashes into a short guy with a sunny smile standing in front of an info table.

"Hey, Mig," the girl behind the table says, laughing, "don't scare the customers." It's a good laugh, friendly and a little too loud, and it makes Jared like her immediately.

"No worries. I don't scare easily," he says as gives her a quick once-over.

She's tall, 5' 10" at least, with shiny black hair in a pixie cut that seems more practical than hip, bright eyes and a mouth that looks like she laughs a lot. She also has a nametag reading, "Midori Ayuhara – Volunteer."

Looks like Jared's found his client.

\--

In retrospect, it was probably not a great idea to have a real conversation with a client before she'd died. But hey, it's not like anyone ever warned him about this or like there is a rule book where he could look up this stuff.

The thing is that Midori – Mimi – is pretty awesome. She's clever and funny and passionate about the no-kill animal shelter she's representing as well as about becoming a vet someday. She also reminds Jared so much of himself it hurts.

Everything seems to fit: they're the same age, love dogs, are both a little behind on the credits for their bachelor's because of extracurricular activities. Hell, she even has an older brother and younger sister, just like him. If Jared were still alive, he'd want to meet her again, check out the shelter, make a new friend.

Instead, he's about to take everything away from her, destroy all her plans for the future with a stroke of his hand. It seems so pointless, so wrong, so completely unfair, and suddenly, he doesn't think he can do it. Sure, he still remembers what Loretta said about souls going bad, spoiling like food, but he also realizes that's all it is: something Loretta told him.

The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself that that doesn't mean anything. Why should Loretta know all the answers? Who told her about all these rules? Why should he take everything in good faith just because she told him? Where are her credentials? How's he supposed to know that all this is not just a cruel game with randomly chosen players?

Jared's done playing. He won't let someone as full of life as Mimi die just because Loretta tells him it's the right thing to do. He won't put her family through what his family is probably going through right now. He just won't.

So instead of cutting the soul/body connection, he retreats into the background, but stays close enough to watch out and analyze the situation, find possible hazards. Once you start looking, there are a surprising number of scenarios. Jared imagines Mimi being pushed into the table, spearing herself on the promotional ballpoint pens. He sees her being knocked dead by one of the metal rods which hold the shelter's banner. Or maybe the driver of a passing car will lose control over the vehicle and crash into her stand. And wouldn't it be almost ironic if she would be attacked by one of the many dogs people are walking around with here?

Yeah, being a reaper's definitely made Jared paranoid, but at least he's pretty sure he's covered all his bases. He'll be able to stop it. If push comes to shove, he can always throw himself over Mimi to protect her. It's not like he still has a life to lose.

There's a strange, loud swishing sound and suddenly, small pieces of debris are raining down fast all around him. Before he can make sense of any of it – of the sound, of the speed of the fragments – he sees a large oval object hitting Mimi in the head. She goes down right away.

Turns out, there's one thing he didn't account for.


	3. Chapter 3

Jared can't move, didn't move at all since that thing hit Mimi. He just watches, watches people cry for help, watches the blood drip from Mimi's head. It's not even a big wound, not even a lot of blood – she will be fine. A little damage, maybe, some time in the hospital, some rehabilitation, some scars. People live through worse stuff.

He watches as the EMTs do their job, try to resuscitate her, shoot drugs into her veins and dress her head wound. He keeps telling himself that she will be fine, that she can still be fine. It begins to sound hollow in his head.

When the medical examiner arrives, no hurry in his step, it's time to admit defeat, but he still can't move.

Why can't she live? Why didn't he see it, anticipate it? Why didn't he push her out of the way? Why did her body give out even though there's still a soul in it?

He's so afraid now. He broke the rules, and he doesn't even know most of them. What's going to happen now? Can he still cut the soul/body connection? Can he still get her out? Will she get her white lights?

He's just standing there, one chaotic thought in his head chasing the next, but then he realizes that they are getting her body ready for transport. The ME must have called the time of death. God, they're taking her away, taking her to a morgue he might never find. He has to act now.

He runs, his muscles tense and vision focused on Mimi alone, and reaches the gurney before the EMTs are finished strapping her in.

"You can't," starts one of them, but then Jared strokes along Mimi's arm, and the guy seems to lose his train of thought mid-sentence, not paying any attention to Jared anymore.

There's a loud, unnatural thud Jared feels more than he hears, and it makes his blood run cold. It's Midori's soul falling from her body like a sack of cement, landing on the ground beneath the gurney. He kneels down to look at her, to help her up, and recoils.

She doesn't look like the girl he talked to only half an hour ago. She doesn't look like any soul he's ever seen.

Her skin is thin like rice paper, the blue of her veins shining through in bizarre contrast. She's shivering, her eyes unfocussed and her lips cracked, small muscle contractions running through her body like electric shocks.

He steels himself and reaches out his hand to help her get up, but she flinches and tries to scramble away. It's painful to watch, the way she can hardly find enough strength to roll onto her stomach, the way she tries to get up on all fours, but can't keep herself up, the way she squirms and crawls away.

And he did that. He did that to her.

Jared wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to crash his fist into a wall until it bleeds, but Loretta was right. This is not about him; it never should have been.

\--

He doesn't know how much time has passed with Midori cowering in a corner and him sitting a few feet away, watching, waiting. Jared's tried to shield her from the commotion on the square with police investigating and onlookers wanting to find out what happened, but he also tried to leave an escape route so she won't feel trapped. She simply pressed herself against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, feet pulled up, eyes squeezed shut. He's lost track of time, doesn't even know how many times she flinched at a loud voice, a person walking close or even just a leaf drifting by.

He doesn't know how long it took for her to open her eyes, for them to develop something like focus. Doesn't know when she started really looking at him. Her gaze is nothing like it was before – almost lifeless now, dull eyes in dark sockets slowly gaining an eerie intensity.

It's unnerving.

He wants to be there for her, to make this right, but he doesn't know how. Hell, he doesn't even know if she's still the person he was supposed to reap or if she's someone else. If he made her become something else. She seems so different.

Her stare develops into something piercing, prodding, uncomfortable.

Finally, she speaks in a papery, torn-up voice, long pauses between words. "You got me out."

Jared wants to laugh, feels it bitter and hollow in his throat. Yeah, he got her out alright. He doesn't laugh, though, or explain or apologize. He doesn't think she needs that right now. Instinctively, he scoots closer – very slowly, so he won't scare her – and reaches out his hands, palms facing upward, offering her his touch.

She just keeps looking at him in that harrowing way, but at least she's not jerking back.

Gradually, her limbs begin to relax, to unfold, until she's no longer hunched in on herself, until he can see how wiry-thin she looks now, starved and battered and worn-out.

How could this happen to a soul? How could mere minutes have this effect? What on earth did he do?

It comes as a surprise when she leans forward and he feels her boney, dry hands slide into his. There's no strength in her touch, no pressure outside the weight of her hand. Jared struggles with how this works, how she can still have a bodily presence, and how it can be so radically different from the way she was when she was still alive.

He tries not to think about this now and completely concentrates on Mimi, willing her to get better. When her gaze seems to grow more lively, her hands slowly tightening around his, he attributes it to wishful thinking at first, reluctant to believe it. He's exhausted, all bleary eyes and sluggish thoughts. His brain probably just tries to give him what he wants so he can go home and rest.

He forces his thoughts back to Mimi, makes a conscious effort to take a long, assessing look at her – and can't deny it any longer. Her skin seems less transparent, veins not standing out as much. She's not whisper-thin anymore in that way that scares him. Her eyes got some shine back, and her lips aren't as cracked.

She's getting better.

By the time she lets go of his hands, she looks almost normal, even if her complexion is more sallow than before and her face more weary.

"Thank you," she says in a slow, dry voice. "For getting me out, I mean."

He doesn't want her thanks, but if he doesn't accept it, if he tells her it's the last thing he deserves, he'd have to tell her why, so he says, "It's part of my job."

She seems to ponder this for a moment, looking at her hands in her lap, pulling at her fingers. "What's next?"

It's a question he dreads, and it's so hard to focus for Jared right now. His thoughts are not as coherent as he wants them to be, and he feels weak. After some time, he answers, "Ideally, you accept that you're dead, and then you can move on."

He feels like a liar.

She nods her head, slowly, like she's trying to make sense of something. "So … I already know I'm dead. It's not like I didn't notice when I died. It was painful," she looks at her fingernails, which are still a little blue, "and it felt like a long time." Her lips press together and her head shakes like there's a small shock going through her, but she catches herself. "I mean: I accept it. I'd rather not be dead, sure, but I'm glad I don't have to suffer through that pain anymore, that I'm no longer trapped."

Jared can hardly take it. Suddenly, it doesn't feel like not telling her is really about her. It feels like it's about him being a coward, not owning up to what he did.

When he doesn't reply, she gives him an uncertain half-smile. "So what do I do to accept? Do I have to sign something?"

He makes a decision, but his eyes cut away when he starts talking. "It's not meant to be like this," he says, gaze fixed on the wall behind her. "I'm supposed to cut the connection between your soul and your body _before_ you die, so when you do, your soul can just slip out." He still can't look at her, doesn't want to see her reaction. His words pick up speed, come out faster. "But you were so nice and you had all these plans, and I thought that I could save you, but you still died."

He makes himself look at her, sees the confusion on her face. "I didn't know. I honestly didn't know it would be like this for you."

When he reaches out his hand to touch her arm, she swats it away, but doesn't say anything. There's a lot happening on her face: it goes from blank to tense, her lips biting and pressing, her eyes blinking rapidly against tears, then closing for a long time.

"It was horrible," she says, every word chosen carefully. "The pain was tearing and burning everywhere, and it was dark, and I felt trapped and alone. And then my body went numb, which was almost worse."

There's a long pause. "But you got me out, you waited her with me, and your hands made me feel better." She straightens up, her face determined. "That's why I believe you – because you stayed."

His eyes burn, and his jaw is clenched tight, and he can't say anything.

He doesn't know what makes him turn around, what makes him look over to the fountain in the middle of the dark square, but there they are: Midori's white lights.

She knows what comes next, like all souls do, and gets up. Looking at Jared for a moment, she briefly touches his arm.

"For what it's worth: I think I understand." She gives him a smile. "Good luck," she says and starts running, jumping head-first into the glimmering prisms of water.

\--

Jared doesn't tell Jensen that night. He only talks to Loretta the next morning, waiting for her to find the right punishment, wanting it, needing it.

She takes him to the park bench where he first woke up after he died.

"I know you want me to make you suffer," she says and looks at him earnestly. "You want it because you know you deserve it. And make no mistake – you really do."

She has her hands clamped in her lap, not touching him like she usually does. "This poor girl was in pain for reasons that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with you. You hurt a soul you were meant to take good care of."

He sits there, helpless, knowing she's right. He's embarrassed that he still has a knee-jerk reaction to defend himself, to say that he didn't mean it.

"But you also made it right." She says it as if it would make a difference. "You realized your mistake before it was too late, and you let your instincts take over."

He huffs an incredulous laugh she simply ignores.

"You got her out before it was too late, and believe me – there is a time when it is too late."

It's a horrible thought: that he could have done something worse to her, that he could have done something irreversible.

"You didn't panic when you saw a pained soul. You didn't leave her, and you didn't force your presence on her." She pauses. "That's good, Jared, that's really good."

"I was the reason she was in pain!" he shouts.

"Yes, you were, but you didn't run from your responsibility. That's the most important part of being a reaper: taking responsibility for another person's soul, never giving up on the ones you're meant to take care of."

He just shakes his head.

"You made a mistake, a big one, and you caused a lot of pain." She takes his hand for the first time today, and her touch soothes him like it always does. "But you tried to make it right. And you succeeded. She got her white lights. She's where she's meant to be now because you didn't give up on her."

"I'll leave you alone now," she says finally. "Eat and drink plenty, and make sure you get some rest. I'll take your client for today, and I'll put you back on shared assignments for a while."

He stays on the bench for a long time, thinking about what she told him.

\--

A couple of weeks later, it's past midnight when Jared opens the apartment door. He expects Jensen to be in his own room already, but instead, he's sitting on the couch with a large tray of tapas, a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

"Hey man," Jared says with a small wave as he toes off his shoes. "I'm sorry, but I'm pooped. Can we do this another time?"

Jensen gives him a look. "You said that before – we can just do one round."

"Nah, man, it was kind of rough today and–"

Jensen gets up. "I'm not into 'talking it out', you know that, but I'm not stupid either. You've been different ever since Loretta put you back on double assignments, and if you don't want to tell me, it's cool, but stop trying to pretend it's nothing."

Jared stands still for a moment, pondering his options. He lives with Jensen, and Jensen's a pretty good roommate, a good colleague. Hell, he's a good friend – and Jared's a sharer, always has been.

He lets himself fall heavily onto the couch and hands Jensen the tequila glasses. "Make mine a double."

\--

Before Jared realizes it, it's September, and he has another late shift at Bocca della Verità that simply won't end. First, a waiter called in sick, then a kitchen help needed to leave early, and finally, there was a large party of guests who seemed to be completely unaware of the concept of closing time. So now it's thirty minutes after Jared's shift is supposed to be over, and he and his boss only just started doing clean-up.

When there's a knock on the door, Jared recognizes the shadow standing in front of it right away. Jensen waits tables at the tapas bar across the street, and sometimes, when his shift ends earlier than Jared's, he drops by to pick him up – and, okay, to charm the leftovers off of Nicoletta. Today, some homemade breadsticks are all there is left, and before he gets the door, Jared puts them in a paper bag.

"Sorry, Jensen, no polenta left over today, only grissini – and we're not nearly done with clean-up." He shrugs apologetically and hands over the bag. For a moment, Jensen looks kind of disappointed, but he quickly covers it up by popping a piece of bread into his mouth.

"Oh, that's too bad," Jensen says as he turns back to the street.

"I'll try and be quiet when I get home. See you in the morning."

Almost an hour later, Jared is opening the door quietly, only to find Jensen lying on the couch. He looks pretty wiped out, a jar with dip on his belly and breadcrumbs all over his t-shirt. His eyelids are drooping, even though an Indiana Jones movie is on.

"That's my favorite," he says by way of greeting and points at the screen.

Jared grins. It's nice that Jensen's still up, even if he seems barely awake.

Walking over to the couch, Jared puts the dip jar on the coffee table before gently lifting up Jensen's feet. When Jensen doesn't protest, it's a sign of how out of it he really is.

Jared plops down on what he's come to think of as 'his end' of the couch and deposits Jensen's feet in his lap.

The truth is that Jensen's not a tactile person like Jared. He always makes sure there are at least a few inches of space between them, so Jared’s enjoying this, enjoys that Jensen's too drowsy to deny him the bodily contact.

Soon enough, Jared's engrossed in the movie, even as he feels himself going from restlessly exhausted to actually sleepy. During a commercial break, he finds that he's started stroking Jensen's ankles and feet without consciously meaning to, kneading them and applying some pressure with his thumbs. Weird. He's only ever done that for Kyle, who was a dance major and always made those low little noises when Jared gave his feet a good rubdown.

Back then, Jared always pretended that it was this big favor, that he only did it because he was a good guy and an awesome boyfriend, but they both knew that he liked it, liked the intimacy of it. That he liked being good at it, too.

But this is different. Jensen's not his boyfriend, and they don't usually cuddle up on the couch together after an exhausting day.

It's probably a bad sign that he has to remind himself of that.

For a moment, Jared considers stopping, considers waking Jensen up and kicking him out, claiming his bed for the night, but when he looks over, Jensen looks so content, comfortable. His eyes are closed, his body snuggled into the couch, and he's breathing through his mouth a little. There's a small smile on his face, and Jared likes the idea that maybe he put it there. He decides to just keep going with the foot massage until the movie is over. Jensen doesn’t seem to mind.

\--

It takes a lot longer than it should for Jared to realize that there are a lot of things Jensen simply doesn't talk about. He's pretty good at distracting Jared – usually with food or Halo or even just a joke or snarky comment.

Finally, Jared catches on, though. He knows about the books and comics Jensen has read, about the movies and shows he likes and the music he listens to. He's even been privy to more than one rant on politics, society and the healthcare system – especially when Jensen has a few beers in him – but he doesn't know anything truly personal, even though they've been living together for several months.

He doesn't know about Jensen's life before he died, doesn't know about Jensen's family. Hell, he doesn't even know where Jensen's from. The guy has a generic accent that makes it hard to pin him down, though sometimes Jared thinks he hears a note of home in it. But maybe that's just Jensen mocking Jared and the 'y'all's and dropped g's that sometimes creep up in his speech.

Basically, Jared knows nothing about Jensen, and it bugs him. It bugs him because he told Jensen pretty much everything there is to know about him, he even told him a little about Mimi, and it's like Jensen's not returning his trust.

After some time of trying to get some information, of asking pseudo-casual questions Jensen always dodges and not-so-subtle prompting Jensen simply ignores, Jared can't deny anymore that Jensen's evading him.

Jared's not used to that. People usually want to open up to him.

If he's honest, Jared thinks more about this than he probably should. And somehow, he gets this idea into his head that maybe all Jensen needs is the feeling of sharing something within a group. That he would start talking about himself it he felt it was normal in the situation, that everyone was pitching in with something about themselves. It always worked for Jared. He spilled his guts many times during 'truth or dare' – or even when they were just trading secrets around the boy scouts’ campfire.

It's not like this is about highly personal details, anyway. It's just about getting something from Jensen. Anything, really.

A little encouragement – okay, so maybe you could call it peer pressure – from their colleagues is probably all it's going to take. It's not like it's a big deal.

Knowing what he does of Jensen, Jared should have realized how that plan could backfire.

\--

The next morning, he brings up the topic of their deaths during the breakfast meeting. The idea actually sounded more awkward in his head than it proved to be in reality. If everyone at a table is dead, death's just not so much of a taboo anymore.

It turns out Jared's own lame-ass death is old news, and when all his colleagues snigger over Jared's inability to get out of his pants under pressure, he takes a mock bow and says, "Thank you, thank you. And thank you so much for not bruising my fragile ego when the wound was still fresh."

"No problem." Genevieve smiles. "Not all people's deaths can be as badass as mine."

Everyone around the table nods, even Loretta.

"Really, how did you go?"

"I was sky-diving when this guy flying nearby lost control of his aircraft. A Cessna, I think." She's smiling like it's a fond memory. "He pretty much tumbled through the sky and speared me with his front rotor. Turned me into sashimi on the spot. It was on national news and all."

Jared swallows and makes a face. "That is ... really, really gross. Thank you, Genevieve."

"Eh, you're just jealous, golf cart boy," she says smugly.

Jared snorts, although he personally is pretty glad he wasn't cut into pieces when he died. The person who had to pull him out of that lake probably appreciated it, too.

"You know what's a _really_ cool way to die?" Misha asks. "Getting onto a Xerox machine in the fucking White House to make copies of your own feet, but being on so much acid that you think the copy light beneath the glass pane is a fire." He holds up his hand for emphasis before he goes on, "Then trying to stomp out that fire, thus making the pane crack and losing your balance. And finally flailing around so much that you slam your head into the lights overhead and electrocute yourself."

He finishes with a 'ta-da' kind of gesture.

Jared looks at him, stunned. "The real question here is: Why did you try to make copies of your own feet?"

Misha shrugs. "I thought I'd be faster that way."

Jared's just opening his mouth to ask more about that when Jensen shuts him off with a hand wave. "Don't ask. It only feeds into his insanity." He's probably right.

"So how about the rest of you?" Jared asks, looking at Loretta and Jensen alike, trying to not make it too obvious whose answer he's more interested in.

"Mine's simple," Loretta says. "I slipped in the bathtub and hit my head. Blacked out as soon as I hit the metal. By the time my husband found me, I had completely bled out." She gives a short sigh. "Poor Stanley."

Jared tells her he's sorry because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. It was a long time ago."

When Jensen doesn't volunteer and no one else asks, Jared turns towards him. "And what about you? Yours is the only one I haven't heard yet."

Genevieve huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, and good luck with that. Jensen doesn't say." She twirls her fork around a little as she speaks. "He doesn't talk about his dark and sordid past."

"Damn straight," Jensen says with a cocky grin, but Jared knows him well enough to recognize the tension underneath.

"But you all already knew about me." Jared's a little confused. "How come y'all don't know about Jensen?"

"Yeah," Misha says, "that's because Loretta reaped you, and she told us, but Jensen's a transfer, so we know nothing."

Genevieve nods. "He won't even say where he's from or when he died."

"Because he's difficult." Misha grins.

"Naw," Jensen almost drawls, "it's just because I don't like you all." He shoots Jared a quick look before he gets up. "I'm gonna take a leak. Feel free to talk amongst yourself, class," he says jovially and walks out.

\--

"A biker club? Seriously?" Jared wishes he could raise his eyebrows as high as Jensen to do the situation justice.

"Even Hell's Angels have to die." Jensen nods in the direction of a guy with an American flag across the back of his leather jacket. "And look, it's _Easy Rider_ Remembrance Day, too."

When they first left the Waffle House today, Jared was a little worried about how Jensen had taken his earlier prodding, but Jensen's only been a little off, nothing too major, and Jared figures that as long as the guy's still joking, everything's going to be alright.

There's a barbecue going on in the club's backyard, and he and Jensen are milling about, listening in on conversations and trying to find their jobs for today. In the end, their clients turn out to be pretty much impossible to miss.

"Fuck you, Bob. How about we slug it out, on the road?" A middle-aged guy in complete biker gear, his leather jacket open to reveal an AC/DC t-shirt spanning over his beer belly, shouts at another guy who's clad much the same. Apart from the outfits, they look more like Volvo drivers than big bad motorcycle guys – but then, a lot of the people around here do.

"You think I'll be backing down?" the other guy, Bob, shouts back. "You think you can win every argument by challenging people to stupid races?" He takes a step forward, clearly furious. "Not this time, buddy. This time, it's all or nothing, Dick."

He straightens up and says, "I accept your challenge," in a weirdly formal voice.

There's some protest from people around them, but before long, they're negotiating the rules for their race. Jensen and Jared use the time to check that those guys really are their clients. They ask a woman standing at the periphery if that's really William Hopper and Roberto Wyatt, and sure enough, they are. Better safe than sorry, though.

"Just imagine us watching that race while someone's slipping on a hotdog back here," Jared says, and Jensen nods, already trying to get close to Bill.

"Good luck, buddy," he says, and claps him on the shoulder. Jared does the same with Bob. Needless to say, when a reaper claps your shoulder for luck, it's not good news.

A few minutes later, as both guys are approaching maximum speed, Bob's brakes block, his bike swerves and he drives right into the side of Bill's motorcycle. There's no explosion, no flying body parts, but the resulting mess is still not a pretty sight.

It's also a weird situation for them as reapers because at first, the guys just keep arguing like they don't even care they've just died. Apparently, the right – and wrong – way to tune up your motorbike is much more important to them right now. Jared doesn't get a word in edgewise, and he's really not sure what to do.

Jensen does a really good job, though, first letting them talk it out, and then making them calm down slowly. Jared just follows his lead. He nods a lot, and has a hand resting on Bob's shoulder throughout. That always seems to help the souls calm down. Jared wonders if it's because they're the only people who can still touch their clients at this point; because it's something special now.

After over half an hour of listening and gentle stirring into the right direction, Bob and Dick finally find a compromise. From what Jared understands, they manage to agree that it all depends on the make of your bike and on what you want out of your ride. Which – seriously?

Jared doesn't say so, but two grown men kicking the bucket over an argument that could essentially be resolved with 'different strokes for different folks' – that's even worse than dying in an artificial lake with your pants around your ankles.

After they dealt with their bike-related problems, convincing Bob and Dick that they're dead and should just accept the fact, so they can move on and go into the white lights almost seems like a piece of cake.

It winds up taking longer than Jared thought, though, because both guys finally realize that maybe this race wasn't the smartest idea they ever had. When they come to this groundbreaking conclusion, Jared hears Jensen mutter, "No shit," but he doesn't rub it in. He's good with clients like that.

After another half hour of talking and explaining and convincing, Bob and Dick at last seem ready and even give each other a hug. When they pull apart, what remains of the two motorbikes dissolves into bright, ever-shifting shades of white and they walk into the lights together. It's strangely moving, and Jared is glad they didn't just make their peace with the fact that they're dead now, but also with each other. He'd hate to see someone go into the lights with that kind of baggage.

When the lights are gone, he turns to Jensen. "Great job," he says. He wants to say something else, wants to thank Jensen for helping him out, for finding the right way to deal with two bickering biker souls, but stops when he sees the look on Jensen's face.

"Fuck off," Jensen spits and walks off.

His reaction is so unexpected that it takes Jared a moment to get moving.

He falls into a light jog to catch up and puts his hand onto Jensen's back. "Hey," he says, "what was that for?"

Jensen comes to an abrupt halt and shakes Jared's hand off. "What that was for? You're not really asking that, Jared, are you?"

"Hell yes, I'm asking," Jared says and takes a step closer. "Is this about earlier? I thought we were good."

"Yeah, sure, Jared, we're good. We're always good." Jensen frowns at him and pushes his chin up towards Jared defiantly, getting their faces closer. "You've been prodding me for the last couple of days. You keep trying to find out things you have no business knowing and you know I don't want to be telling, but hey – if Jared Padalecki wants to know, then, obviously, he has a right to know. Fuck other people's privacy, fuck what other people want."

Jared tries to cut in, but Jensen's voice only gets louder, and he takes a step closer. "And I stay nice, and I don't throw you out of my fucking apartment because I'm dumb enough to think we're friends. And I think once you really get it, you'll get over it, but no, you don't." Jensen huffs out a breath, and Jared can feel it across his mouth. It reminds him of their first argument, of the first day when he got too close, when he blew up in Jensen's face. It reminds him of their second argument, too, when he did it again. "Because – hey, why should you care what I want? Instead, you try to pry things out of me, try to make the others tell you when it's clear I don't want you to know. You're a great friend, Jared. Real great."

With that, he tries to storm off again, but Jared catches his arm before he can, pulling him close, maybe too close. And that also reminds him of before. "I'm sorry for that, Jensen, okay? I really am, but you can't just tell me to fuck off and leave. You've gotta call me out on my shit, not just walk away." He looks at him insistently, strangely aware of how fast his own breath is coming, of how fast Jensen's is. "Because I am your friend, I am. That's why I told you all that stuff about me, about my life. But you don't give me anything, not the smallest thing. I know exactly as much about you as the others, like I'm just another colleague."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jared knows that's not entirely true. He knows that Jensen might not talk about his past, but that he still lets Jared in way more than the others. Yet it hurts to even just say it, to think about how much of his past he's shared with Jensen, getting nothing in return. "I just wanted to get _something_ from you." He presses his lips together for a moment. Jensen's become this big part of his life, his colleague, his friend, the only person he's never really tired of. The apartment they share feels like home and the food Jensen cooks tastes like it, and Jared just wants it to be the same for Jensen. "I hoped you would trust me, at least a little."

Jensen's eyes narrow, and Jared has no clue what he's about to do, if he's going to pull loose and run, if he's going to punch Jared in the face, or if he's going to yell at him again.

Jensen just lets out a long breath.

"Okay," he nods, "okay. So you think you're different? You think I should trust you? Trust you more than the others?" The question feels strangely loaded, but Jared nods, slow and sure. "You know what? I'll give you a chance to prove yourself."

Jared knows that Jensen tries to seem unaffected, but he can see Jensen's pulse beating fast in his neck and the way sweat gathers at his hairline, even though it's not a hot day.

This is important, this is big, Jared can feel it. He wants a chance to prove to Jensen that he's trustworthy, that Jensen can count on him.

Jensen's voice comes out low and quiet. "I want out. I don't want to play by the rules anymore." His eyes fix Jared, pin him down, and Jared knows the surprise he feels must show on his face. Jensen's so good at reaping, he has a normal job, too, and an apartment – he has a whole life here. Jared would never have guessed that he wants to give it all up.

He wants to ask Jensen _why?_ , _how?_ , _since when?_ , but instead he stays silent and tries to look open to whatever Jensen's saying. "I've been saving up —I want to buy a cheap car and drive over to Texas. I want to check up on my family, see if they're alright." Jensen swallows. "I know it's against the rules, I know Loretta says people who knew you won't even be able to see you and that you'll have no chance to talk to them, but I don't care. I want to make sure they're alright. I _need_ to know."

Jared doesn't reply right away; he needs a moment to process this. So he didn't make up that down-home note in Jensen's voice he thought he heard sometimes: Jensen really is from Texas, too. And Jensen misses his family and doesn't get this stupid rule about not checking up on them either. Jensen also has the guts to say 'fuck it all', and just do what he feels is right, instead of what Loretta tells them is right.

And he told Jared. He took this huge risk and told him.

"So what?" Jensen asks, defiant. "You going to rat me out now?" The bravado is false; his eyes are too wide and he bites his lower lip too hard, like he really expects Jared to run to Loretta and do just that.

It stings that Jensen thinks he'd do that, that he suspects Jared to sell him out.

So yeah, maybe Jared's never thought about leaving before. Hell, he never even knew there was an alternative. In fact, he's still not sure there is, that it's possible to just up and leave for reapers, but he is sure of one thing: He wants to prove himself to Jensen, wants Jensen to see that Jared wouldn't let him down, would never let him down. He wants to wipe the fake defiance from Jensen's face and replace it with something better, something genuine.

Before he can really think it over, before he can weigh the pros and cons and try to start a discussion that has the potential to ruin everything, he hears himself say, "No. No, I'm not gonna rat you out." He swallows. "I'm in. If you let me."

\--

Four hours later, they're on the road, Jensen's savings enough to buy an old Chevy from a guy Jensen knows, most of their belongings stuffed into the trunk – not that either of them had a lot to begin with.

At first, they're both incredibly tense, and when they reach the city limits, Jared half expects for them to hit an invisible frontier, like they're bound to the city or something, but it doesn't happen. He looks over at Jensen, and Jensen smiles at him like he was maybe thinking the same thing.

Right before they leave California, Jared's hit by the same feeling of anxiety as before, but when they cross the state border, again, nothing happens.

He didn't plan on it, but suddenly, Jared has this big urge to throw his arms up and whoop, so he does. Jensen slants him a quick look and smiles, whooping along but keeping his hands on the steering wheel.

For the most part, they don't talk. The radio works and Jensen finds a good station, humming along softly. Jared's never heard him do that before. With every mile they put between themselves and L.A., Jensen seems to relax more. It's a good look for him. The snark and smugness slowly leaving his features, making him look younger and more carefree.

At first, Jared just sneaks a look here and there, but after a while, when the sun starts setting, he leans against the car door and just keeps looking. He always liked it when he could make Jensen laugh, when Jensen seemed to loosen up a little around him, but this is so much better than anything they did in L.A.

The best moments, though, are when Jensen's eyes leave the road and he looks back over at Jared, smiling.

\--

When they're already deep into Arizona, Jensen suggests that they find a motel for the night.

"As long as we find a place to eat, too, I'm all for it," Jared says, and his stomach gives a slight rumble, as if to underscore the point.

Jensen laughs. "Sure. I don't want to risk you starving to death, you bottomless pit. Did you always have that freakish metabolism or is that new?"

Jared rubs his belly gleefully and says, "It's a genetic defect, I think. You should see a regular Padalecki family dinner. It's like an all-you-can-eat buffet every time."

"Why don't I think you're joking?" Jensen asks.

Jared doesn't even bother with an answer and just sticks out his tongue at Jensen.

\--

After they've had surprisingly good food at a cheap Tex-Mex place close to Phoenix, they settle in at a small, run-down motel for the night. To not dig into their funds too much (well, Jensen's funds, for the most part), they take a room together.

It's not like Jared hates the idea. And they've played video games or watched movies together pretty much every single night since Jared moved in, so spending so much time together seems natural anyway.

It's still different, somehow, to think that he'll be sleeping in the same room as Jensen, not even a thin wall between them like usual.

When they check in after dinner, it turns out that the TV set is a bust, so they can neither hook up Jensen's Xbox nor watch TV.

They agree that it's probably not a bad idea to go to bed soon anyway, get an early start tomorrow.

Jared's the first to take a shower. When he's done, he leaves the bedside light on and crawls under the covers. He's not really tired yet, but the sheets are nice and clean, and he'd feel weird sitting around in just his underwear.

When Jensen comes out of the bathroom, only a towel slung around his hips, Jared has to bite his lip, hard. He can't stop looking. He's never seen Jensen in less than a tee and some boxers before, and yes, okay, that's already a pretty distracting sight, but he's also used to it by now and has learned to hide his thoughts pretty well, he likes to think. With Jensen basically naked in front of him, though, it's a completely different ballgame.

No wonder that Jensen catches him staring. "What?" he says, tucking at the fabric of the towel. "Don't you like the rose pattern? I think it's delightful." He grins like he expects Jared to joke back, but Jared can't, he can't even stop looking.

Jensen's not broad like he is, built lithe instead, but strong. And Jared already knew that, yet it's so different to see it like this, to see his torso with the square shoulders and narrow hips. To see how sinewy Jensen is with lean muscles all over, not a six pack, but his whole body taut and powerful, his skin so pale in the dim light of the room. No wonder he could pin Jared against the wall so easily that one night at the apartment, back when Jared was still in a different body.

It's obvious that Jared's gaze starts making Jensen uncomfortable, shows in the way he draws his shoulders up a little and tries to keep from fidgeting, but Jared still can't look away. He doesn't know what's wrong with him.

Jensen cocks his head and rubs his neck. "Sorry if I insult your aesthetic sensibilities, man, but I didn't buy those towels, they came with the room." He goes for a smile, but his voice comes out a little uneven. "Let me just grab some clothes."

Jensen quickly gets a tee from his duffle bag and stretches to put it on, arms high above his head, showing off his chest, accentuating every muscle.

"Fuck," Jared says, his voice rough. "I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, it's just that ..." He feels himself blush and, finally, he's able to tear his eyes away.

"Yeah, I know I'm pretty scrawny." Jensen laughs, but it sounds slightly shaky. "I tried to put on weight, but apparently, these bodies can't gain or lose any. Which is probably good for you, you pig."

Another awkward moment, another joke to lighten the mood. Another opportunity for Jared to catch on and make this okay. He wants to say something, he does. Something about the Padalecki curse and how it's really not his fault he has to eat his own weight in candy every day, but he can't, because honestly, he wants to say something else entirely.

"You shouldn't worry about your weight. You're not scrawny." He swallows and adds, "You look great." Which: yeah. Lame. Super lame. And a really great idea, too, when you've just established that you're friends with the guy. Not to mention that Jared never officially came out to Jensen, so he might really be freaking him out with this now. Way to go.

Jensen just draws his eyebrows together and gives a laugh that would sound self-deprecating if that weren't completely ridiculous. "Yeah, right."

And, seriously? He can't mean that. They have this whole flying-under-the-radar, the-living-don't-really-notice-them-like-they-do-other-people thing going, and still every other person they meet gives Jensen at least a look of appreciation – if they don't outright flirt with him, like their waitress did earlier.

"Come on, Jensen," Jared says, his voice a little raspy, even in his own ears. "Don't front. I bet you were a real player when you were alive. I mean, hell, you're dead now – or undead, whatever – and people still hit on you. You could probably get laid more dead than I did alive." Jared doesn't want to come across as completely insecure here, so he amends, "And I'm not ugly."

Jensen looks at him intensely, his expression impossible to read.

"No," he says quietly, "you're not. You're really not." The look on his face becomes slightly wistful, but he smiles through it. "So you think I'm hot, huh?"

In spite of the smile, there's an odd weight to the question, Jared can feel it, like Jensen isn't quite sure, like he's testing out the waters.

"Yeah," Jared says, "you're … gorgeous." Which, again: lame. He can't leave it there, can't let the word gain too much meaning, so he prattles on, "Not to mention the snark and your taste in music and in movies. That's really important. I couldn't be friends with someone who's into Maroon 5 or doesn't know _Easy Rider_. And you can cook, too."

It's an out for Jensen this time. Nothing great, just something to keep them in friendship territory. Enough to make a joke about Jared's never-ending appetite or the fact that he could sing along to that Taylor Swift song earlier. (Hey, Jared knew a redneck heartbreak once, who was also really bad at lying.)

But Jensen looks at him like maybe he doesn't want to make a joke. Slowly, he walks towards Jared's bed, and Jared gets up, so they face each other.

"This is serious, right, Jared?" Jensen says, and it's such a weird question, like Jared could maybe just be playing him. Like Jared would even try to play someone like Jensen. Like he even could.

"Yeah," he breathes out, nods. "For me it is."

Jensen raises his hand, and his fingertips brush across Jared's jaw, but before Jared can lean into the touch, Jensen pulls away again and goes to sit down heavily on his own bed.

"There's something I should probably tell you," he says, and he's not looking at Jared.

Jared doesn't think Jensen wants to be touched right now, so he sits down on his own bed, right across from Jensen, and waits.

"This," Jensen gestures down along his body awkwardly, "this isn't really me. This isn't what I used to look like at all." He smiles a strange, far-away smile that Jared doesn't understand, but that seems wrong somehow. Yet Jared keeps quiet, keeps waiting for Jensen to make sense for him.

"I was nine when I got sick for the first time," Jensen says, and it seems like such a non-sequitur. "The doctors didn't think I'd ever get to be thirteen, but I proved them wrong." He smiles for a moment. "I was almost twenty-two when I died."

Part of Jared wants to reach out and touch Jensen, wants to say 'I'm sorry' or 'Thank you for your trust' – something, anything – but Jensen seems like he's not even really with him right now, like he's in a space deep inside his own head.

When he speaks next, Jensen's voice comes out calm, almost detached. "The last time I ate real food, I was fifteen. The last time I left the hospital was on the day I turned eighteen and the doctors allowed me to go home for a party where I couldn't even eat my own damn cake." He shrugs, like that didn't matter, though it clearly did.

"So this." Jensen grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up to his neck. "This isn't me. What you see here, it's just not me. It doesn't feel like me, either. There's no pain, not even a little bit." He looks down on himself, as if examining his own chest. He still sounds weirdly composed, muted. "And there are no tubes and incisions, either, no holes and scars from where they cut the tumors out and the melanomas and the metastases."

There's so much tension in Jensen's body, and Jared can see how it builds and builds. How tight his shoulders are set, how his knuckles go white with the fists he's making. "And there are all these muscles." Jensen's laugh startles Jared. It sounds metallic, almost hysteric. "In the end, I had muscular atrophy, you know? I don't even know where all these muscles come from." He's chuckling, and it's a strange, strange sound. "This just doesn't look like it's me. It doesn’t feel like it's me. It's like a stranger, like I've been conned into the wrong body and living in it for four years now." Slowly, he lifts up his chin to look at Jared and lets the shirt fall from his hand.

And wow, that's a lot. A lot of information, a lot of truth.

It's a lot for Jared to take in, but even more for Jensen to tell him. It's a lot for Jensen to live with without telling anyone – too much. Jared takes a deep breath, tries to think.

"Can I come over, Jensen?" he asks, voice soft and hesitant, like he's talking to a scared animal or a child. He doesn't want to belittle Jensen, but he doesn't want to risk spooking him, either.

Jensen nods, and Jared sits down next to him, close, but not touching. He carefully takes Jensen's one wrist and starts stroking over his clenched fist until it begins to relax. When Jensen's fingers finally grow slack beneath Jared's, he slides his palm into Jensen's, squeezing.

Jared moves his thumb slowly, drawing small circles on the back of Jensen's hand as he tries to gather his thoughts, to find the right words.

"I want to be honest with you, Jensen," he says, and even at those generic words, he feels Jensen's hand tense up again. "I don't really know what to say to that." He takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed on Jensen's hand in his. "I'm sorry you had to go through all this. I'm sorry you feel like a stranger in your own body. And I'm sorry you didn't have anyone to talk to." He looks up, but Jensen doesn't meet his eye. "But I'm glad you told me, and I want to help you, if I can."

It feels like he's saying the completely wrong thing, like every word only increases the tension in Jensen's body, coils him tighter.

When Jensen speaks, his voice comes out in a monotone, like he's closing-up again, retreating. "You don't owe me anything, Jared, seriously. I don't need your pity," he says and tries to pull his hand away.

Jared looks at him, shocked, but manages to hold on to Jensen's hand. Why is this going so wrong? "This is not pity, Jensen." He feels insulted, and he knows it comes through in his voice. "I like you. I like you more than I have liked someone in a long time. Maybe more than I ever liked a guy. And you tell me that you've felt awful for years, that you've been sick for much, much longer." He catches Jensen's other hand, too, and pulls both into his lap, forcing their bodies closer. "I feel bad for you. Not because I pity you, but because that's what you do when you like someone."

Slowly, carefully, Jensen's eyes travel from their entwined hands up to Jared's face. At first he just looks, but then he begins to smile, small but definitely there. "Yeah," he nods, as if confirming it for himself, "I guess you do."

Jared slides his arm around Jensen's shoulder and waits until he feels Jensen relax into the touch before he pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to Jensen's temple.

Slowly, the tension seeps from Jensen's body, and he curls further into Jared, almost burrowing himself into Jared's side.

After a while, Jensen says quietly, "I never even kissed someone, you know?" He chuckles. "There's a sad lack of hot gay guys hanging out around hospital wards – and the one male nurse that I had wasn't even hot. Not to mention married."

Jared smiles and briefly squeezes Jensen's shoulder. He shifts a little and brings a few inches of space between them, so they can look at each other.

"I'd like to be your first kiss, if you'll let me," he says earnestly.

Jensen's eyes slant away for a second, and he might be blushing, but then he smiles, a softer version of his regular, snarky smile, and he says, "Yeah, that was kind of why I brought it up, genius."

Jared laughs, throwing up his hands. "Okay, okay. Just making sure here."

He brings his one hand up to hold Jensen's jaw and cocks his head, moving in slowly, giving Jensen time to pull back, time to change his mind.

Jensen's mouth is soft and warm and minty fresh, and Jared would be content to just slide their lips together, not really opening their mouths or getting their tongues involved. But Jensen seems to have other ideas. Soon his hands travel up Jared's chest, and he holds Jared's face as his tongue licks into Jared's mouth, playful and exploring.

Jared's not complaining.

When they pull apart, both flushed and a little out of breath, Jared chuckles. "I can't believe I fell for the 'I've never even been kissed before' line. You've clearly done this before."

"Hey," Jensen says, and slaps his shoulder, "stop it with your outrageous accusations." He grins, a little smugly, and his eyes are shining. "It's not my fault I'm a natural at this."

"And so modest, too." Jared smirks. "Come here, you natural." He pulls at Jensen's shirt to draw him closer. "I need further data for testing. Find out if that was just a fluke."

Jensen rolls his eyes and blows out a long-suffering breath, but he can't keep himself from grinning when he says, "If you insist."

Turns out he really is a natural at this.

\--

By nine o'clock the next day, they're already back on the I-10, heading in the direction of Dallas. They had a good breakfast – no waffles – and have the windows rolled down and the music turned up.

They're both more relaxed than they were yesterday, and they maybe sing along with the radio a little louder. The goofy smile Jared sometimes feels on his face is also new. Just like the one he gets when he watches Jensen, sees how the morning sun paints the tips of his hair gold and makes the few freckles on his nose stand out.

When ten o'clock rolls around – the time they usually meet up at the Waffle House – they both grow a little quiet.

After a while, Jared can't help it any longer, he has to ask, "What do you think – how long will it take for them to realize we left? That we're not just late or passed out drunk in a ditch somewhere or maybe stuck in traffic?"

Jensen shrugs. "I don’t know. A couple of hours maybe. Something tells me Loretta is going to catch on pretty quick."

"Yeah," Jared agrees. "Doesn't mean she can do a lot about it," he adds to reassure himself as much as Jensen. "I mean, we left Cali fifteen hours ago without a problem."

"True," Jensen says and keeps driving.

They don't stop for a real lunch, just get some burgers and fries at a drive-through – okay, so Jared also gets a milkshake and some pie – and keep going east. They make good time, and when three o'clock ticks by and nothing happens, they slowly relax again.

As they pass through Midland – proud home of the former president and his first lady – the sun begins setting, and they both decide that it'll be best to call it a day soon.

They find another motel, The Heartland Inn, and the receptionist recommends a local barbecue place for dinner.

It's good. It's really, really good. Huge portions, lots of cheese on the nachos and the meat basically melting off the ribs, just like it should be.

Their waitress is a nice-looking girl with a weird name Jared immediately forgets, and when she suggests they try 'the best garlic potato salad in the state', Jared's so there. Only when Jensen gives him that look he has sometimes does Jared realize that garlic might not be the best option to be having tonight.

In his hurry to catch the waitress's attention, Jared nearly jumps out of his seat and flails his arms pretty wildly.

When the girl comes back to their table, he tells her to hold the salad and make it a baked potato instead, and Jensen almost busts a gut laughing. Okay, so maybe Jared's not exactly subtle.

"Aw, baby," Jensen chokes out between laughs. "The things you sacrifice for me. I really appreciate it."

When Jensen has himself back under control, he signals for the poor waitress to come over again. "You know," he tells her with a big smile, "on second thought, I'd really like to try that garlic potato salad. And don’t go easy on the garlic. Thank you." He manages to keep a straight face, too, while he orders. Once the girl's left, though, Jensen explodes into another fit of laughter, pointing at Jared, whose dumbfounded facial expression seems to be very entertaining.

Naturally, Jared has to kick him for that under the table. But Jensen lets him have half of the salad, so it all works out.

\--

They sleep in a little and make it to Richardson by two o'clock the next day. The closer they get to the house of Jensen's parents, the slower Jensen drives. He's clearly stalling and Jared lets him. This is Jensen's thing; he should do it in his own time.

"You want to grab something to eat first? Maybe find a motel, take a shower?" Jensen asks, his fingers drumming a fast rhythm on the steering wheel.

"Sure, whatever," Jared says.

There's a small strip mall, and Jensen pulls over into one of the parking spaces right in front of a Starbucks. He lets his eyes travel along the different store fronts, studying the signs and names of the shops like they actually mean something to him, before he finally looks over at Jared.

"Do you think it was a lie?" He swallows, then clarifies, "That they won't recognize me, I mean? That I won't be able to talk to them?"

Jared presses his lips together. He's thought about that, too. "I don't know," he replies. "I really don't. I mean, it could be true. As a precaution, you know, something like a safety measure. Just like the unnoticeability thing once you cut the soul/body connection."

Jensen nods in agreement. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He's quiet for another moment or two. "But I don't really have to talk to them, do I? I mean, I just want to see them again, want to know that they're alright, you know?"

Jared just smiles at him in what he hopes comes across as an encouraging and supportive way.

Suddenly, and with a lot of force, Jensen pushes both his hands against the steering wheel. "I'm just so on edge, you know? Maybe they don't even live here anymore. Maybe they're on vacation. Or maybe," he says quietly, "something happened to them."

Jared hums in reply and puts his hand on Jensen's thigh, slowly rubbing up and down.

"The worst thing is that I say I want to make sure that they're alright, but it's not true. What I really want is to know that they still miss me." Jensen bites his lip, hard, like he does sometimes. "That they weren't just glad to get rid off me. That I wasn't just a burden."

For a moment, Jared has to close his eyes. He figured from the start that there was something beneath Jensen's snarkiness and distant behavior, but he never would have guesses that it was that. That someone as clever and funny and kind (and yeah, okay, extremely good at hiding his kindness) would think like that about himself.

He understands, though. It's painful and he'd bet that Jensen's completely wrong, but he understands.

Jared puts his arm around Jensen's shoulder, scooting as close as the car seats will allow.

"I get it, Jensen," he says, voice low, "but I'm sure it wasn't like that. I _know_ it wasn't like that. No one could ever think that about you, especially not anyone who really knows you, not your family. But I get it." He rubs Jensen's shoulder. "If you want to wait, if you want to find a motel room first, take a shower, maybe Facebook-stalk them, check online where they are now, we can do that. Or we can go back to Cali. Or we can go somewhere else. We can do this whichever way you want."

Jensen doesn't react at first, just takes one breath after another, deeper and calmer each time. After a while, he looks over at Jared.

"Thanks," he says, and moves his hand back to the ignition. "I don't think I want to wait, though."

Jared moves away a little, sitting back in the passenger's seat as Jensen turns the key. "Let's do this."


	4. Chapter 4

When they pull up into a suburban street on the outskirts of Richardson, Jensen slows down considerably. "I looked this up on Google Earth so many times," he says quietly. "I don’t even know if my memories of this place are real or if it's all Google images inside my brain."

Jared gives his knee a quick pat, but doesn’t say anything.

Finally, Jensen slides the car into a free parking spot next to the sidewalk.

"It's a couple houses down here," he explains. "I think I'd like to walk the rest of the way." He laughs. "Less of a chance to chicken out and speed off."

They lock the car – even though it seems pretty unlikely that someone would steal an old Chevy with so many new SUVs around – and walk down the street.

It's a nice neighborhood. Houses with double garages, painted in pastels. Well-kept front lawns with flower beds, oak trees and the occasional children's toy lying around. It's not so different from where Jared grew up, even if they and their neighbors were a little messier.

They reach a house that looks just like the others, painted in a light purple tone, but with both garage doors open because, apparently, the owners are having a yard sale.

Jensen's eyes grow wide, and he takes Jared's hand, pulling. "That's my house," he says, then corrects himself, "That's their house."

He has a deer-in-the-headlights look, and Jared smiles at him, hoping to give some reassurance.

"But that's good, isn't it?" he says. "It means that we can get a little closer without looking like creeps, maybe even talk to them."

"Yeah," Jensen says slowly. "Yeah. I suppose."

They walk up to the folding tables that hold box after box of stuff. There are toys and clothes and books, CDs and even VHS tapes.

Jared browses superficially, but mainly watches Jensen, who carefully goes through some stuff. After a minute, Jensen pulls out a kid's t-shirt with Minnie Mouse on it, and turns towards Jared.

"I remember this," he says, voice low enough that no one will overhear. "That was Mack's favorite. For a while, she wore it every time they visited me in the hospital." He smiles a wide smile, and it surprises Jared a little. "It's really them, Jared. They're still here."

They go through a couple more things, and Jensen points out stuff that he recognizes. He's poring over a stack of comic books while Jared rummages through another box of odds and ends, finding a _Star Wars_ figure that looks pretty awesome. Jared's just about to show it to Jensen when someone snatches it from his hand.

"Hey," he says and looks up at the woman who took away his Yoda. She's around the age of Jared's mom with nicely done hair and a crisp white blouse with neatly folded-up sleeves over jeans she clearly ironed. He can't pinpoint what it is exactly, but he instantly knows she's Jensen's mom.

"I'm sorry," she says, "but that got in there by mistake. It's not for sale."

"That's too bad," Jared shrugs his shoulders, "it looks really cool."

"Yes," she smiles warmly at him, "it is pretty _cool_." The word doesn't really sound natural coming from her, more like she's quoting someone else. "Or at least our son used to think so."

Wow, Jared thinks, a minute into the conversation, and she actually brought up Jensen.

It's a great opportunity, and Jared's trying to think on his feet. Maybe he can get her to talk some more. He's good with people, he might pull it off.

He quickly looks in Jensen's direction, hoping for some kind of confirmation that Jensen's okay with this. Jensen doesn't even look at Jared, though, instead, his eyes are fixed on his mother, and he's already started to come over. Even though he's directly in her line of vision, she doesn't seem startled or shocked or does so much as a double-take. She's definitely unable to recognize him.

Before the silence can grow awkward, Jared makes himself smile back at her. "Used to think so? Did he outgrow _Star Wars_?"

"No." Her smile is a little wistful, but mostly full of affection. "He passed away a few years ago." She shakes her head. "But he never outgrew _Star Wars_. I don’t think anyone in this family does. I'm the only one who didn't really catch the bug, and I always feel a little left out." She turns the Yoda figure in her hands. "But my daughter will love that this turned up again. She made Jensen answer her questions with this thing for hours on end when she was little."

Jared looks at her, not quite getting what she's saying. "Questions?" he asks before he can stop himself, although he should probably ask about, well, _Jensen_.

"Oh yes," she smiles, "didn't you see? This is a Magic 8 Ball." She turns Yoda, so Jared can see the underside of the repulsor chair the little man is sitting on.

"Wow." He whistles. Right on the bottom of the chair, there's a viewing window for the 8 Ball's answers. "No wonder you don't want to sell this. It's really awesome. Your son had great taste in toys." He cuts a quick look at Jensen, who's standing slightly to the side of his mother, maybe a foot or two away, his eyes glued to her face as he listens intently.

"If you'd heard him banging on that toy drum-kit he wanted so badly, you wouldn't say that." She laughs a little. "Alan and I had to lock it away for a while because Jensen always wanted to practice as soon as he woke up. Trust me, a six-year-old's drum solo is not what you want to hear five o'clock on a Sunday."

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks away self-consciously, much like Jensen does sometimes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bore you with stories of my son."

"You didn't. It's nice to hear." Jared decides to go out on a limb, stretch the truth a little. "My family recently lost someone, too. He was only twenty-one, and I'm really not sure how well everyone's coping." Unexpectedly, he feels like it's a little hard to swallow, like his throat's closing up. "It's good to hear from someone whose son is gone longer … that you still think about him, that you didn't forget him."

Jensen's mom gives him a look like she understands, maybe better than Jared does. She nods and puts the Yoda figure down, patting Jared's arm for a moment. "What's your name?" she asks.

"Jared."

"I'm Donna," she extends her hand, and he takes it. "It's going to be easier, Jared, I promise," she says. "I know that it doesn't feel like it sometimes – and we still miss our son, of course we do, and our children still miss their brother – but the good memories, they will stay with you, they're much stronger than the bad ones."

Jared finds himself nodding along with her words; they're good words, kind and truthful and they make something in him feel a little lighter.

"In my self-help group, they said that it takes about a thousand days to get over a loved one's death. That's three years." Donna seems to almost sense what he's thinking. "It may seem like a long time, but it's a really important transition phase, trust me. And it's not all bleak."

She picks a Christmas ornament from one of the boxes. "The first Christmas after my son's passing, I thought I couldn't do it. I thought it would be awful, and we'd all cry our eyes out. But then Joshua, our oldest, found a tape from a Nativity play he and Jensen were in." She turns the silver star around in her hand. "It made us so happy just to see him again." She blinks rapidly, and her eyes are shining. "Even though he forgot part of the lyrics and lost his halo half-way through."

Jared can't help laughing a little at that, and he sees Jensen's smiling, too. By now he's absolutely certain that Loretta didn't lie to them. It's not just that Donna doesn't recognize Jensen, she doesn't really seem to be able to see him at all. Otherwise, she'd have to notice that he's standing much too close to her, much closer than a stranger would.

"He's been dead for four years now, but he's still part of our family, always will be." She shrugs. "He doesn't come up in every conversation, but he does come up. And when Joshua got married last year, he left a place among his groomsmen empty in Jensen's honor." She shakes her head and smiles. "He even thought of it himself, and he's usually the type who gives me an ironing board as a birthday gift and doesn't understand why I'm not jumping for joy."

She straightens her shoulders and steps back a little. "What I want to say, Jared, is that you might not get over it in the sense that you'll forget, but you'll come to terms with the situation. And you'll learn to enjoy the memories, be thankful for them." She squeezes his hand again. "I'm sorry for your loss, but it will get better." She sounds sure, calm.

Jared smiles at her. "Thank you, Donna. I appreciate it. Very much." He's surprised at how much he means it.

In the corner of the garage, next to a surf board, there's a woman waving like she's interested in buying, and Donna turns in her direction.

After two steps, she stops and throws over her shoulder, "You know what? You can keep the Yoda figure. I'm sure Jensen would like a real fan to have it."

"Really?" Jared beams. "How much?"

"It's a gift," Donna says. "Just don't sell it on eBay."

\--

An hour later, Jared and Jensen sit at a vintage school desk in Sonny Bryan's Smokehouse and eat some of the best brisket sandwiches Jared's ever had with coleslaw that's almost as good as his mom's. Yoda is sitting between the two of them.

"I still can't believe my mom gave you my Yoda," Jensen says between bites.

"Yeah well," Jared replies, his mouth still full, "I'm irresistible like that." It's entirely possible that he sprays some small pieces of meat across the table.

Jensen wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, completely irresistible. Especially with coleslaw hanging between your teeth."

"Be nice or I won't share _my_ Yoda with you." Jared says, and takes another hearty bite. The truth is that he likes this, teasing each other back and forth. Jensen seems happy, relaxed in a way Jared has not seen before.

"Hey," Jensen swats him in the arm, "you already said I could have it."

Jared just shrugs. "I lied."

"I hate you," Jensen says, laughing.

"I figured."

It's still light out when they walk back to the car.

"I can't believe we've made it this far, that Loretta didn't stop us or anything," Jensen says and gets out the car keys.

"Yeah." Jared grins. "Maybe she's not as good as we thought she was."

That’s when he notices someone sitting on the hood of their car.

"Hello, boys," Loretta says.

They both stop in their tracks. After a moment, Jensen mumbles out a, "Hi, Loretta," and Jared follows suit.

She smiles at them and says conversationally, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yeah," Jensen says, "I think so."

"That's good, honey," she says, "real good." Her voice sounds absolutely sincere. "Does that mean you two are ready to come back now?"

Neither of them says anything, neither one moves. It's like the moment's frozen, and Jared has no idea what's about to happen.

Then something seems to break in Jensen. "You knew?" he asks, voice cracking and too high. "You knew all along?"

Loretta nods. "I did."

Jensen's face scrunches up, confused, maybe angry, too. "But what about the rules? You said we couldn't see our families, that it would be bad for them, not just for us." He's almost shouting now. "Why did you let us leave anyway, why did you take that risk, why did you let me get back here?"

She sighs, and takes his arm. "Let me buy you two some coffee."

\--

It's a shock to learn that Loretta intentionally let them go, like she had wanted Jensen to come here, to see his family. But why would she? And if she had, why didn't she just tell him he should go? Jared just can't make sense of it all.

A few minutes later, tucked away in a corner booth with a steaming cup of coffee in front of her, Loretta explains herself to them. "I never lied to you, boys. Never." She takes a sip. "Once you're dead, you can't go back home for everyone's sake. It's not just that it's upsetting for us as reapers – it also keeps the living from letting go."

Jensen hasn't even tasted his coffee yet; he just holds on tightly to the mug.

"It's like with our clients. If the soul of the deceased is still around, the living feel it – and it makes them hold on." She looks at both of them meaningfully. "And a reaper's presence is much stronger than a regular soul's."

"Why's that?" Jared says, rubbing the straw of his milkshake between his fingers. Immediately, he wants slap himself. It's kind of a dumb question, and not exactly relevant.

Loretta answers him anyway. "Because we're not ready to leave yet, we're still tied to the living world." She pauses. "So when we find our families before they've made their peace, we make it that much harder for them. We make it almost impossible for them to let go."

Jensen's biting his lip and rolling his mug in his hands, not looking at Loretta. The silence between them is heavy, and Jared's afraid to even try and drink his milkshake for fear of making a slurping sound. He should have gone with coffee, too.

"So that's why you let me find them," Jensen says quietly after a while, "because they were already over me."

There's a flicker of what Jared thinks is pain on Loretta's face, and she reaches for Jensen's hand. "Oh honey, of course not. They will never be over you." She curls her hand around his. "What they are over is the loss of you. It's like your mom said – they went through the transition phase. Now, when they remember you, it's because they want to, because you're a part of their lives and always will be. Not because you're this great big hole in it."

The fact that Loretta knows what Jensen's mother said surprises Jared, but this is definitely not the time to bring it up.

Finally, Jensen takes a drink from his coffee.

"So," Jared says slowly as the meaning of Loretta's words sinks in, "that means I can't see my family, right?" He's surprised by how small his voice sounds.

"Not now, no," she says, patting his hand across the table. "But if you still need to when they're ready, I will tell you," she promises. "Most reapers don't want to. Once the initial impulse of wanting to go back is gone, they're happier keeping a distance between their new and their old lives."

She smiles at them. "But you're different. Both of you. It's a good thing, most of the time."

"Okay," Jared says, "okay." He's not even sure himself what exactly he thinks is _okay_.

When Jensen finally looks up from his coffee mug and catches Loretta's eye, it's unexpected. "Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome." Loretta smiles and then puts her empty cup down. "And what now? Are you ready to come back yet?"

Jared looks over at Jensen. He doesn’t want to decide this, not alone, so he just gives a faint nod and hopes that Jensen gets that it's up to him, that Jared's backing him up no matter what.

The thing is, Jared believes Loretta, and if he's honest, he wouldn't mind going back. Over the last months, his new life as a reaper sort of grew on him. He likes living with Jensen, their small, chaotic apartment with the comfy couch and meticulous kitchen. He likes his colleagues, too, the way they can make fun of each other one moment and help each other out the next. He even likes Robert with his mind reader-like waitressing skills and his big, fat crush on Loretta. And he likes the souls, likes that he can help people who have no one else in that moment. It feels like he's doing something good, something useful, something he's good at.

The only way he wants to go back, though, is if Jensen's in it, too. He can't imagine going without him.

Jensen gives him a quick smile and takes Jared's hand under the table, squeezing it briefly.

He turns his head to look at Loretta and says in a surprisingly strong voice, "We're coming back."

\--

A couple of days later, they're back in Los Angeles, sitting in their regular booth at the Waffle House, almost like nothing happened.

Sure, Genevieve and Misha keep ribbing them about their 'great escape' and how they at least made it across the border, and Robert the waiter asks if they enjoyed their little road trip. Misha has also started calling Loretta a bounty hunter and both Jared and Jensen Dr. Kimble – which clearly isn't confusing at all. But other than that, it's a lot like before. Only better.

When Loretta hands out the Post-its this morning, she gives Jared and Jensen a sly smile and says, "I put you two back on shared assignments. I hope you don't mind."

Genevieve and Misha both snigger, and Jensen looks over at Jared with a cocky grin. In an exaggerated drawl, he says, "I don't know. Do you mind, Dr. Kimble?"

Jared's not sure what makes him do it, but suddenly, he has his hands around Jensen's jaw, pulling him close and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Not at all, Dr. Kimble."

For a moment, Jensen looks slightly stunned, but then his smile returns and he winks and snatches Jared's Post-it out of his hands. "So let's go. We've got work to do."

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [spn_j2_bigbang](http://spn_j2_bigbang.livejournal.com) challenge, and I'd like to thank the mods for doing an amazing job. My artist, vengefuldemon69, made some amazing art for this fic but has since deleted her journal.
> 
> The wonderful [meiou_set](http://meiou_set.livejournal.com) was, as always, the best beta I could hope for. She helped me, challenged me, supported me - and she sure knows how to crack a whip. Thank you so much.


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